


The art of self-destruction

by Triyune



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Barebacking, Bloodplay, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bruce Wayne, Bottom Joker (DCU), Breathplay, Cock Rings, Corporal Punishment, Crossdressing Kink, Deepthroating, Despair, Disobeying Orders, Dom/sub, Dominance, Drugged Sex, Emetophilia, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Erotic Electrostimulation, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time Topping, Genderbending, Headspace, Heavy BDSM, Latex, M/M, Marking, Masochism, Milking, Mind Control, Mind Games, Mind Sex, Objectification, Orgasm Control, Pain, Piercings, Power Play, Rough Body Play, Rough Oral Sex, Sadism, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm, Sensation Play, Sexual Violence, Subdrop, Submission, Suffering, Switching, Top Joker (DCU), Torture, Trust Kink, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Urethral Play, Vomiting, Watersports, Whipping, collaring, telephone sex, tunnel games
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-02-19 16:36:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 54,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22914031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triyune/pseuds/Triyune
Summary: When the Joker is in one of his moods not one stone will be left standing. Bruce Wayne has made the courageous decision to show him about a way how to channel his misdirected energy, firmly believing that he knows what that man needs.However, as they proceed with their games it gets more and more intense for both of them and Bruce realizes that he better should have paid attention to the saying 'Never trouble trouble till trouble troubles you'.
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 34
Kudos: 101





	1. The invited guest

**The art of self-destruction**

I had been keeping track of the Joker’s attacks on Gotham for over half and a year now, documenting each attack and its nature and I had finally detected a pattern in them. Every three or four months, he launched one. It was unbelievable that he would be so predictable since he never was predictable in any other way, but I trusted in my results and I was sure that the next attack was soon to come.

For a long time, I thought about how to prevent that, how I could possibly look for his headquarters or add a tracker to his all-time favourite tailcoat next time, but following those ideas only made me ask myself what I would do next. Our encounters always ended up with me either taking him to Arkham or him escaping and it wouldn't serve to break that cycle at all. I needed a new approach to that.

One night, when I was sitting by the computer with a cup of coffee, looking at his previous attacks, I came up with the thought of trying to get down to the root of that trouble. In the beginning of our mutual career of playing cops and robbers I had tried to analyze him and soon given up, feeling that my knowledge wasn't sufficient in order to tap into psychopathology. I had just resigned myself with being unable to read his character, but that had been four years ago. I wanted to give it a new try now.

I was going to start with what I was familiar with. The basic motive. It wasn't important whether he was suffering from some sort of mental illness or what kind of illness that was. I knew about the contents of his clinical records and that many professional men were just at a loss with his mental state, so why should I even try to understand that. I wanted to move these studies to a more basic level and assume that his thinking patterns were just the same as anyone else's. I didn't want to deal with the symptoms, I wanted to deal with the cause for his behaviour.

So all I had to do was to find out what he was trying to get with these acts of violence, what he intended to compensate for. Thus, I had to take a closer look at the phenomenon of violence in general.  
Violence existed since mankind lived on this earth. It was used to take possession of things which did not originally belong to one. It was used for one’s own benefit.  
However, since the Joker did not amass material things this argument was invalid.  
The kind of violence the Joker was using rather aimed at terror; he killed or poisoned people or tried to send entire states into war against each other. And he sat by and watched. And enjoyed the show.

I felt that I was closer to the solution. It was a very personal thing for him. Whatever he did, at least he saw the consequences of his acts. He needed to see them. It wasn’t his style to do something which no one would take notice of, like he’d never commit a contract kill; it would give him no satisfaction. He wanted to inspire fright or misery. And he wanted to see that in order to feed on it. He was a voyeur and his object of desire was misery.

I put the cup on the table and accidentally spilt the coffee on the computer. I had never been so close to understanding him, when in fact, it just demanded some empathy, imagination and the readiness to think like him. If I committed such an act of violence and watched it, what would I feel? What could I possibly feel?  
In his case, it was satisfaction, that was sure.  
Why? What was that satisfaction filling up? What kind of hole did it fill?  
I suffer, thus others have to suffer as well.  
Not exactly.  
Critique. Did he use violence to express critique? Not always, not generally. Some acts definitely supported that theory, but it was not the underlying motivation.

How did I have to feel in order to be ready to commit such acts? I had to be in need of violence, otherwise I could have gone playing cards, wasting my money in the casino, fucking all the celebrity whores in Gotham...no, it was violence that he needed. He did what he needed. Everyone just did what he needed.  
If the cure was violence, what was the disease?

Pain.  
Every mental illness resulted from pain. But I wasn't entirely sure whether he was mentally ill. Not in the common sense, at least.  
I tried to imagine blowing up the local courthouse, like he had tried to do it two years ago. There was that aspect of social critique, definitely, but there must have been more to it. Though, I followed that line of thought for a moment and came up with the idea that he felt like he was entitled to put himself above the common sense of justice. His sense of justice was a distinct system. Did he want people to see that what they believed in was just bollocks?

I got back to the violent aspect of it since that led me nowhere. I had to return to a more general way of reasoning.  
I stood next to a tree, watching the building exploding. People were screaming around me, running around in confusion and I was laughing. Poor idiots. I wanted to shake the system. I wanted to shake it because I thought I was better. I had made experiences which showed me that I was better. I did not sit at home and brood in a dark corner, but I made them see that.  
And that way, they'd listen. Stupid idiots, being confronted with a power they had not known it existed.

That made me smirk.  
I had the power to bring that upon them.

My smirk faded and I leaned back in my chair. There was a ringing in my ears which was frightening. Everything around me was silent. I stared at the black screen in front of me, falling the victim to a bunch of emotions and images which were 13 years old. I didn’t want to have them on my mind at all. Yet, the intensity of those told me that it had to be the solution. It was a subjective kind of reasoning, but why shouldn't he be the same. It was human, after all. And if that was true, it was just so easy to help it.

One evening, a few days later, I dressed up, put on a wig with long brown hair and a moustache and I thought that this was enough to hide my true identity. I would look for him.  
However, the districts which I wanted to comb were just those where Bruce Wayne wouldn’t have survived longer than 20 minutes so I had to put on a disguise.  
And indeed, no one recognized Bruce Wayne out there. I spent several nights asking my way through shoddy places and various localities without success. But I didn’t want to give up.

One night, finally, I was lucky and someone could give me some information about the Joker. He had been seen in the Luna district. It wasn’t a huge district, just a few streets, but it was known for its artsy stuff like underground galleries, theatres and shows. Boldly, I went from one cinema to the next, from one gallery to the other and from one bar to the next, looking for him until I found him sitting in a Burlesque show. It was one of those old locations with tables and seats from the 70s, a nicely decorated stage with heavy red curtains, gold ornaments and a woman just showing off her colourful peacock tail to a lively swing music.

He was occupying one of the tables, a bottle and a glass in front of him, his chin propped up. His pose painted a thousand words. The vibe I was getting from him was exactly that one which I had feared to feel. Instantly, I connected with it and I needed a few moments to oppose it so I could think clearly.

Cautiously, I sat down in the back area and watched him for some more time. He was trying to distract himself. That told me that he wasn't ready to accept those feelings at all, that he did try to act differently, but he and I knew so well that in the end, it always caught up with him. Sighing, I decided to continue with my plan. If I wasn’t going to do that I’d regret it. I got up, went to him, pulled on a chair and made him look at me. A short glance and annoyed eyes wandered back to the woman who had put down the tail and was working on her hot pants.

“I know why you are here.”

At hearing my voice he almost jumped from the seat. Terrified eyes searched for me and when they had seen through the disguise he really attempted to jump from his seat, but I quickly grabbed his wrist and stopped him. He pulled, but I didn’t let go. When he realized that no chance would he ever leave from here if _I_ didn’t want him to he sat down again and eyed me. Not long and the shock was gone and all that which I knew so well spilt from his eyes again. He couldn’t hide it anymore. He was at a stage when there was nothing else on his mind than this and he could not keep it away from showing anymore.

_I can see your soul craving release. I can see how you wish for fulfilment, how much you want to destroy, no matter whether it is others or yourself. To break something; a pretty woman’s face, a man's car, to watch him rushing against a wall with cut brake lines, the flood taking people with it, to watch them drowning, or just a drunken bastard stumbling and falling flat on his face. A bank going bankrupt and people jumping from the 40th floor at their loss, a child crying at having dropped its ice cream, a tree falling on a single-family house with the family and dog inside, a fire, ravaging and burning everything to ashes._

_Or yourself, bleeding._

I’ve seen that look so many times. People who were treated badly and who finally rise and return the violence. People who never had a clue about power and who suddenly get to taste it. It corrupts. It bloats the ego, it causes self-confidence to grow to levels which are almost unbearable and it makes them question our established moral codex.  
Since moral was only made up for those who are weak. There is no natural moral. It is artificial, manmade. If the world consisted of strong people we’d need no moral codes because everyone could stand up for himself.  
I knew that kind of thinking. I knew it too well.

First comes the wrath. The wrath we experience at realizing that violence has been done to us, that the moral codex was ignored and someone had deliberately crossed that line to limit our personal freedom.  
Next comes the will to hit back, the readiness to pay people back in kind. Self-confidence pops up, turning us into gods.  
Inevitably, the need for violence rises. Simply because we are finally capable of being violent.  
And then, the enjoyment starts. The terror we spread is the love we have been missing so badly.

As I was looking at him I could feel my chest getting tight, impeding my breathing. It was coming from the solar plexus, the centre of wrath. I had believed that I had dealt with it in a healthy and final way, but at seeing him I could not defend myself against those known feelings suddenly coming to life again. They had never been fully gone, never really died. That blaze had turned into a flickering flame and the flame had finally been reduced to dying embers, not getting any fuel anymore. But secretly, it had been gleaming, just a bit, waiting for the next opportunity. And if it would take years.

His look fanned the embers.  
And all of a sudden, I was right in the middle of my 18-year-old me. After I had lost my parents I had spent several years in a kind of emotional coma until I turned 18 and my mind changed. An indescribable kind of wrath ate me up from the inside, a longing for violence and destruction, a longing for exerting power over others. I had felt so helpless, so passive at seeing my parents dying. And suddenly, that pain had turned into wrath.  
I did not know how to deal with it, I could not even voice it appropriately. And neither did my teacher recognize that and kept teaching me about good deeds so my mind got terribly twisted and turned against itself. I was taught that it is immoral to turn against others, so I in my despair, like many other men, turned against myself.

An odyssey through the shady bits of the world started where I was looking for means how to act that feeling out since it was turning me crazy. It couldn’t be suppressed, always it made its way through and so I searched for ways how to vent it. I tried out many things, yet, I got stuck with sexual practices dealing with the loss and gain of power. It was exactly what I needed. It seemed to be a reasonable means to satisfy that craving for violence while no one got seriously hurt. And I didn’t care whether I was the one on top or bottom, the main point was that it involved violence.

Often, when I had come home bruised and beaten I looked in the mirror to see that that look was gone. It had been beaten out of me.  
And whenever I noticed that other look showing in my eyes again I knew what I had to do. For several years, I spent many evenings like that, still also travelling the world to get to know different cultures and their specific ways until I ended up meeting Ra’s al Ghul, who served to make me question my beliefs again.

By dealing with him, my mind changed and from then on, I used that energy for other purposes than experiencing bodily or mental pain. I discovered a way how to use that energy for the benefit of others and in further consequence for the benefit of myself.  
This now in front of me, however, the look in those eyes was the same one I had seen so often in the mirror.

“I can help you.”

After another attempt at getting away from me he settled down again and stared at me with wide eyes. I could see the wrath materializing. I knew that I had touched a very personal and sore spot and that he did everything but approve of it, but somehow, I _had_ to get him.

“If you don’t leave right now I will just blow your fucking brains out, right here at that table,” he snarled at me.

“Oh I do believe that you’re capable of that, but I know something better,” I said.

I had to use the full palette of my dramatic abilities to decoy him into following me. It was almost impossible to do that, but considering his toxic mood, he’d be up for some risky game indeed, following his enemy into an unknown situation. I banked on his need for destruction.

“Yeah? I know something better too. You shut up and annoy someone else with your billionaire boredom.”

I didn’t say anything at that, but kept looking at him. Eventually, I also dropped my smile and looked him deep in the eyes. The woman next to us had dropped her bra and was wiggling her featherly ass. I wanted him to see that I was serious about this and I was convinced that silence could better tell him about my intentions than words could do. I knew that he needed what I was going to do; the problem was just that he didn’t know that he needed it.

Suddenly, his hand slipped free and he got up to rush to the wardrobe. I followed him, but by the time I had reached the exit he had disappeared already. I followed him outside and ran down the street to catch up with him. When he realized that he could not run from me he stopped and turned around, the wrath he had been trying to bridle now fully showing.

“What the fuck do you want from me?!” he shouted.

“Just follow me.”

He lifted his hands and let them fall down again so they hit his thighs, expressing his utter annoyance and the realization that resistance was futile. Then he shook his head.

“You’re even worse than him, you know that?”

He sighed and took some steps back to lean against a wall. I knew what he was feeling. There was only one thing he could think of and now I was demanding his attention. He couldn’t concentrate on both.

“I know what you’re going through,” I said and slowly approached him so not to put him off again. He was rubbing his eye, debating on whether to give in or not. At least, I had managed to reach that point.

“How could you know about that,” he laughed, “Why the hell am I talking to you at all.”

“I know what you need.”

He looked up. I put all my authority and emotional knowledge into that look so he should see that I was everything but making fun of him.  
Green eyes scrutinized me.  
If it had been usual business between the two of us I would have come as Batman. But I knew that he was aware of that. As Bruce Wayne, I barely posed a threat to him. It was even dangerous for _me_ to socialize with him like that.

Curiosity.  
Oh goddarned curiosity.  
Too much testosterone, a resulting limited access to reason, adrenaline and dopamine silenced the warning voices in his head to not trust this foul situation. He needed it so badly. And he would do almost everything to get it.  
He pushed himself away from the wall and made a step towards me so as to show me that he was ready to follow me.

I did not know what he was hoping for, whether it was one of those bloody and bone-crushing backyard fights we had had so many times or whether he thought we'd go to the movies to watch a horror movie or whatever. I just saw that he was so desperate as to take whatever I'd give him. I would not disappoint him. Self-destruction was an art which needed practice and a good teacher.

I knew about a dungeon in the district which I thought suitable for that. I knew it from my youth when I had had the same needs.  
We sat in the cab in silence, but I knew that I had his attention. At the address which I had told the driver we got out, I paid and entered the premises. “X Ways” was one of those locations which was not the usual filthy, cheap dungeon but rather on the posh side.

Many rooms were occupied so we got the room 13. I was fine with that and he had no clue anyway. Silently, we went up the stairs and I unlocked the door and entered. It was then when his defiance finally set in. As he entered, he became aware of where he had followed me to.

“I don’t know what kind of sick shit you’re up to, or what you think of me, that I am just a w-“

Before he could finish the sentence I had hit his face hard enough to confuse him for a moment and I pushed him against the wall and fixed his head and arms. Anger was in his eyes which almost looked like annoyance. For a moment, I had to concentrate on getting into my role, but when I had it I started. I narrowed my eyes and moved close to his face. I could feel how unsettling that closeness was to him and I wanted to give him a taste of what was to come.

“I don’t care what you think and likewise, you shouldn’t care what I think,” I hissed, making him close his eyes at my breath which hit him just in the face.

“So just in case you still haven’t realized what this is about: You do what I tell you to do, without complaint, objection or question.”

Intimidation showed up in his eyes. He wasn't used to this kind of behaviour coming from me.  
I took a step back and pushed him into the middle of the room. He staggered and I could feel the turmoil inside him at what he had just experienced, but I was sure that I had been so close and clear enough that he knew that I was serious. He turned around to look at me, the same look in his eyes like before. His defiant attitude was what I needed to reach top form.  
I had expected him to fight back, to rebel against my commands and I loved that, I had always loved dominating a bitchy bottom. It stirred that dark passion and it made it feel real.

“Undress.”

He clenched his teeth, still glaring at me. I took a deep breath and approached him, moving too close again. I could feel his aura intensifying. Patiently, I waited until he had adjusted his look and when I found his eyes glued to mine I repeated the word very slowly and with a certain threat in my voice.

“Un. Dress.”

I just said that word, then I turned around and went to a cupboard on the other side of the room. I knew that they were storing various pieces of clothing and toys there and I needed something to help me visualize my role. For a few moments, I didn’t hear any sound but when I opened the drawer I finally heard him undressing. Curiosity was a whore. I would have been damned had he not been curious about what was to come. And it didn’t matter anyway. Whatever it was, it could only serve to help him. When self-destruction was hot on your heels, it didn’t matter what was going to happen if it just hurt really good.

I got rid of my coat and shirt and put on a leather harness, consisting of some leather straps and O-rings, which nicely decorated my chest. When I turned around I found him standing there in his pants, his hand on the button. He looked up at me. It was the first time in my life when I saw doubt in his eyes. He was a child at heart, curious; he was depraved and he was courageous, but nothing of this could kill his doubt. I was proud that I had managed to put him into that position and I enjoyed the insecurity I had caused. It showed me that he took me seriously, finally.

It was out of question for me to stop. If I let him go now he’d go home and next day I’d have him blowing up the zoo or the church. I knew that it wouldn’t go away on its own. Action had to be taken. So I took the handcuffs, turned around and went to him, took his arms and fastened them behind his back.

“Let the fuck go of me,” he hissed and wriggled, but I was using all my strength to safely store his arms behind his back. When I was done he immediately changed his pose and crouched to protect his front. I couldn’t but grin at that.

“What the fuck you think you are doing there, you filthy bastard! If I had known what kind of sick shit you are up to I’d have gone to the police to tell them that you’re just one of those pathetic rapists and that you deserve-“

I had fetched the gag and silenced him, not without having him protesting. I took his chin and held his head, forcing him to look into my eyes. I lifted my eyebrows and forced silence on him. When he tried to move away I dug my fingers into his cheeks and made him stay. I knew that he thought he had to protest. Humiliating him and taking his pride were two different things and I wanted to make sure that I would not touch his pride at all.

“End of discussion, you got me?” I finally said and let go. He snorted but didn’t move otherwise.

“And now I will finish what you weren’t able to,” I added and unbuttoned his pants. When my fingers touched his skin he flinched. I knew that he felt very uncomfortable, but that was the point of it. However, right now, he wasn’t the only one feeling off.

In a few moments, I would see his dick. I shouldn’t have been so concerned about that at all, having one myself, but it was something new to me. Always, I had been dealing with people who knew about those practices, who knew what they wanted and they had always been strangers to some extent. He, however, was no stranger to me.  
The next moment, I recollected myself and remembered that I had only taken him to this place to spare Gotham another deadly attack. It wasn’t personal; it was kind of business and I thought that no one else understood that kind of business better than I did, having suffered through such times as well.

His pants dropped to the floor, his underpants followed and I couldn’t help but glance at his dick. I tried to hide the emotions at seeing that it wasn’t limp anymore, because I considered showing him these as going too far. It was a very natural kind of grip I had on those things, feeling what was appropriate and what was too much and I knew that I could trust my instinct. When I was at eye-level again I looked into eyes that were about to kill me. A red tinge was on his cheeks.

“Shall I remove the gag?” I whispered, trying to show him with my voice that this was between the lines of our official script. I wanted to establish some feeling of safety for him so he could go through that knowing that he was somewhat safe, no matter what happened. Yet, at the same time, I feared that he would laugh at that. That he would use this and wind me up.  
But he faintly shook his head and kept staring at me like he wanted to eat me. He had not given up his personality, yet, he was ready to explore a new trait of his, in his own way. Somehow, I was fascinated by his ways. There was so much unspoken between us but both of us could feel it. My experiences helped me to read him.  
It made sense that he didn't want it removed. That way, he didn’t need to complain, he didn’t need to say anything while being able to play along. It would leave his pride intact.

Without any further words, I took his arm and pulled him to the corner with the pillory. Before he could buck I had his throat slammed against the wood and locked the bar. He was facing the corner; I had done that on purpose so he wouldn’t see what I was doing behind him in the room. I got me some rope and attached one end to his wrists. I pulled up his arms until he made a sound of discomfort, then attached the other end to the pillory to keep his arms in that position. I had not even started and he was so aroused that I was sure that I had made the right decision.

I got me the tawse now and pushed it between his thighs, applying pressure to the insides of them so he would spread them. Then I put a hand on his back to make him feel safe despite that which was to come. My words would express the contrary, but I hoped that he would feel that I cared. It demanded some special kind of apprehension to understand that one, he was going to experience a loss of power while I'd be on top and two, I would make sure that he was alright though. It was a twisted mix of ruthlessness and care, but I was sure that he'd understand.

“I don’t care if I hurt you. I don’t care if it’s too much for you and I don’t care if you aren’t into this at all.”

Without me noticing, my fingers had dug into skin. I felt excited and worried at the same time and it was more difficult for me to act like that than I had expected. The only reason why I was doing that was because I was convinced that it would, in an odd way, help him. And everything that helped to get him out of that destructive mood would ultimately help me and everyone else around him. No walls could lock that madness away and no chains could bridle it. No medicine could kill it and no ignorance could quench it. Only pain could resolve it.

I took a step back then, raised my hand and hit his ass with the tawse. He jerked and made a muffled sound but within some moments, he was on his feet again, awaiting the next blow. I had been sure that the magic of it would capture him instantly. It was a kind of feeling that was hard to resist. Everything dissolved, the pain, the worries, the fears, doubts and any other sort of issues. All that was left was just an aching spot and unlimited freedom.

Watching his ass turning slightly red, I felt my own dick twitching. I had gone so long without that practice and I had not missed it at all, so I thought, but now that I was right in the middle of a session again and had everything working out so perfectly I could not fight off that exhilaration. Although my dick had woken up it had nothing to do with sex, to me. It was a struggle for power, domination and submission and it might have been linked to sexuality as well but first and foremost, I had always been regarding it as a means to act out that violence which was lurking in the shadow of my mind. I had to concentrate on not losing my judgement to it. It was a risky game and I didn’t want to burn neither my fingers nor his.

“You're just a piece of perverted shit,” I said, greatly enjoying the use of such words. If I had used them when talking to the usual nightlife acquaintance I’d get myself a slap. All those first class society ladies wanted to be treated like queens, they wanted to be treated more well than they deserved and I was tired of that. Maybe the time had come that I should have looked for a playing companion again. But for now, he would do.

The next four hits almost sent him down on his knees, but he couldn’t allow himself to move much since his head was locked in the pillory. He had difficulties straightening his legs and I waited patiently, knowing that the worse it got the more time he would need to prepare for the next hit.

“Don’t tell me this is all you can take,” I commented on his efforts to brace himself up and I continued slapping the tawse against his ass which was already showing some wear. However, he could only take three more before his knees gave way and he sank to the floor, almost choking himself. I had not tried to go for quantity but rather for quality, but just eight hits were a bit disappointing. Unceremoniously, I reached under his belly and lifted him up, but he pressed his legs together and lowered his ass so I couldn’t properly aim.

“Spread your legs.”

As nothing happened at my command I repeated it, shouting, and he finally did so, his thighs trembling uncontrollably. I could feel the bitter taste in my mouth, the despair, the reluctance, the total awareness of one's own body. It was a special feeling. However, I had to make sure whether he was feeling the same so I moved to the side and checked on him. His dick was in horizontal position and a small string of pre-cum was dangling from it. He had needed less than I had expected to reach that state.  
I went behind him again and patted his balls with the tawse. He flinched at the contact, but when he realized that I wasn’t going to hurt him he relaxed again.

“I could play ping pong with them, you know,” I said, smiling, still lightly patting his balls, “but I think this will do.”

Just when I had said the last word I hit them so hard that instantly, I feared that I had made them burst. The sound he made made me think of the worst. Even a few seconds later, he was still moaning around the gag. Guiltily, I put the whip away and carefully cupped his balls. No blood. I definitely had to pay more attention to how hard I was hitting him. It was true that he could take a lot, but with these delicate parts, I had to be more careful. On the other hand, he just should see that I really didn’t give a damn about him at all. It was part of the game.  
While I carefully moved his balls in my hand I felt a pang of guilt again. I had been _too_ ruthless. Somehow, I had allowed myself to get carried away. But it was no wonder, having gone without all that for more than a decade now.

Fighting the urge to connect with him by putting my hand on his back, I got up and went to the door to put the used tool into the box next to it and to give myself some time to recollect myself. I wanted to take care of him now, to patch him up and to give him some warmth; it didn’t matter to me that he was a guy who’d have blown up the entire planet if he had just been capable of doing so. Right now, I had hurt him and I wanted to take care of him.

I cleared my throat and pushed these thoughts aside, getting back to believing that only what I had done before could help him. I was sure he wouldn’t take any of that vanilla stuff from me right now and even less accept some hugging and kissing. Simply because that wasn’t what he needed.  
I crouched down in front of, facing him. His face was covered in sweat and I could hear him breathing. His look told me that he was still busy trying to sort out that pain while at the same time, he tried to show me that he didn’t approve of what was happening. His dick told me otherwise. He didn’t miss that glance at his genitals and turned his head away.

“More?” I asked him, trying to make my voice as devoid of any emotion as possible.

His eyes returned and searched for mine. A slight nodding told me that we weren’t done yet. But what had I expected, making him taste blood for the first time in his life. I had not been any different, immediately recognizing the potential of that sort of thing.  
I went to get me a butt plug and some lube while I made sure that all of that caused some interesting sounds. After I had lubed the plug I lightly pushed it against his ass to show him what I had in mind. When I noticed no reaction I pushed the first centimetre in which finally made him squirm. I had chosen the smallest one, one he could easily take, even if he had never done that before.

He jerked and tried to pull his head through the opening of the pillory, suddenly getting all fidgety and nervous. Frowning, I pushed the plug further in and he started complaining, muffled 'Mmmmhs' clearly showing me that he did not enjoy that one anymore. And I wasn't sure anymore whether that was real disapprovement or just pretended defiance. As long as he remained hard it was the right thing. I bit down on my lip to hide the smirk. That would finally be what he needed.

“Shut up!” I yelled at him and slapped his sore ass, just enough to send him back into his headspace. A desperate huff assured me that he was done now.  
And I turned courageous at that. Tentatively, I reached under his belly and felt for his dick. His knees gave way again, but I held him up, lightly closing my fingers around his dick. Of course it felt familiar, just like mine, in fact, but then again, very different though. He struggled to break free, but it was pointless. While his attempts at escaping my touch became more vigorous, I felt his dick getting harder in my hand.

It was a fine line between consent and non-consent and in this case, it was very much blurred. Everyone would have stopped at that kind of behaviour, making sure that he was okay. But I wanted to push his limits. Strictly speaking, it was against the rules of that society to force something on someone, but since I thought that I understood him in a very unique way and since I had hard proof of him liking it though, I benignly overlooked that rule of consent and continued. It would have ruined the magic, had we had a talk before about what to do, so I had to rely on my instinct.

He pulled at the ropes to free his hands, thinking that some squirming and wriggling could solve the knot but he had no idea under which masters I had done an apprenticeship in order to know how to tie a knot. When he was hard enough I squeezed his balls into a metal cage and placed a ring around his dick, not without having him heavily disconsenting to that. I felt that it would be a special kind of humiliation to have his private parts made public in that way. My plan had actually been different, but I had not been able to resist the opportunity to touch him there.

I knew that I’d never get the chance to do that again since once I had introduced him into that sort of game, he’d look for his perfect top and I surely wasn’t qualified for that. It was a special time, that way. At best, I could count on him coming to my home at night to try to strangle me for what I was just doing to him now.  
I left his balls hanging in the cage and took a small remote control. While searching for the ON button I wondered what would happen if I pressed it. I saw two possible scenes taking place:  
One - he exploded with anger.  
Two – he came despite the cock ring.

When I had found the ON button and pressed ‘Program 1’ I heard and saw the third scene happening.  
A deep, long-drawn moan coming from a man who was just shuddering with intense emotion. When he had overcome the first shock I gave him the next one and his voice got higher and he squinted his eyes. I could not exactly tell whether that was a reaction expressing joy or disgust so I kept giving him electroshocks until I was sure that it was finally too much. It was all about getting to know one's personal limits and crossing them.

And then, I continued. I doubled the voltage and watched him cringing. It was well obvious that that was more than he was willing to take, but in order to put out that blazing need for destruction I had to destroy him. I gave him a few more shocks, then I stopped and put the remote away.  
His thighs were shaking and so were his hands. Reason fell back upon me and I swallowed hard. I didn’t think that I could stand the look of his eyes now so I stayed behind him, working on the knot in silence. It wasn’t like I didn’t know how to open it; I rather deliberately took my time because I feared what would happen as soon as he was freed.

When I had finally solved the knot his arms fell down on his back. He couldn’t even move his fingers anymore; I had to assume that they had gone completely numb. Careful not to touch him at all, I removed the lock of the pillory and lifted the bar so he could take his head out. His back must have ached so terribly that he didn’t straighten it at all but just removed his head, stumbled to the wall and sank down on the floor.

I had had it all in my head, what I would do, how things would work out, but reality was ten times harsher. With growing regrets I shifted my weight, unsure about whether to approach him now or just leave. If I thought about what I had needed after those sessions there was just one option. I knelt down in front of him and took him in my arms. My embrace was met with attempts to shake my arms off, but I clung to his body. His skin felt cold and it was wet from the sweat. For a moment, I felt disgusted, hugging a man who was wetter than a sportsman after a marathon until I got past that and just accepted it.

That was a game with unique rules. At first sight, it was just a brutal rape and ignorance of another man’s freedom, but it was so much more than that and I hoped that I had been able to show him about that hidden truth which had to be experienced. Even if the electroshocks had been too intense, I had wanted to show him that he had limits too. And in his case, I was sure that a good deal of extra pain could work miracles on his dopamine levels, giving him an exquisite experience of mental levitation. Words could only describe it to a limited extent but experiencing those sensations claiming your body was something else.

When I felt somewhat stable again I loosened my embrace and offered him some space. But he wouldn’t look at me.  
And that was worse than any look he could have given me. I didn’t know whether he felt ashamed, angry, simply defiant, too hurt to move or worse, traumatized. I couldn’t but lift his head to see what was up with him.

I could only glimpse his eyes before he turned his head away again. They were wet and filled with confusion and pain.  
I closed my eyes and thought of my first time. Collateral damage. Shame, surprise, rapture, fear and numbness were too many things to deal with at the same time. I felt that he would need some space and time to find back to himself so I sat down on a chair next to him. While I tried to grant him his space and to look at the furnishings, my gaze wandered back to him.

Like a young bird which had fallen out of its nest, he crouched on the floor, frightened and overwhelmed with a new perspective.  
Suddenly, I felt that this was just too private, too intimate than to invade it with my eyes and I turned my head to look at the rack next to me. I would wait for him to approach me again, no matter how long it would take.

It didn't take long.  
When I heard him moving I turned my head again and just found him leaning against the wall with a steady eye. For a long time, we locked gazes, trying to understand the other, communicating what could not be voiced.

Eventually, I broke the contact and got up, yet careful to notice any movement of his, but he remained calm. I glanced at him again, then went to the cupboard. I had something in mind which could probably help both of us.  
When I returned with it in my hands he dropped his gaze to look at it. Again, I watched out for any sign of disapprovement, but he just eyed it. I put it on the floor, then removed the gag. Immediately, he opened his mouth and stretched his jaw muscles. I loved the feeling of getting rid of a gag and working one's jaw back into its usual position so I couldn't but smile to myself.

I picked up the thing from the floor, opened the zipper and put it on his head. It was a bondage leather mask, his eyes were blindfolded, tiny holes left out for his nose and the mouth area was opened by a zipper.  
When I looked at him again, he had turned into someone else. It was still him, but like, a little less. For a moment, I considered going without the gag but I decided to put it on again since he had gone without words until now anyway and it would serve to create a very special sensation together with the eye mask. He would be completely isolated, locked inside himself and I knew that he trusted me enough to allow me that much power.

Usually, that sort of thing was only done after a few sessions when the playing partners had gotten to know each other to a certain extent, but he was not the usual playmate.  
I took his arm and guided him towards the rack where I freed his arms and helped him lie down. I fixed his wrists at both sides of the rack, lifted his legs and moved them over the horizontal bar so his ass was lifted into the air as well. Additionally, I locked them with chains so that he was completely at my mercy. I eyed him again, concentrating on the faintest move of his fingers or feet but he remained completely motionless.

Following a sudden, exceptionally sadistic notion, I decided to go downstairs and have a coffee and see with which further ideas I would come up. Meanwhile, I’d park him on the rack and give him some time to recover. It might have been irresponsible to leave him like that, tied to the rack, blind and gagged, but I was sure that he was going to appreciate the thrill of it.

As silently as possible, I left the room and didn’t close the door. I wanted to leave him in the dark about what was happening or where I just was. Casually, I walked down the stairs and went to the bar area, not caring to drop my harness. On the way to the bar I met some other couples and single doms and I almost turned nostalgic at that sight. At the bar, I ordered coffee and sat down.

To a certain extent, I could claim that I understood him. To a certain extent, I was sure that I had managed to help him and to a certain extent, I was happy about that but that which went beyond that was just concern.  
Seeing him emotionally so demolished after the first experiences was something I could barely handle. It was true that it was part of the game and the first time always hurt like deflowering a woman, but I feared that I had treated him too roughly. However, when I thought of that look in his eyes after he had managed to get up I was feeling better about my decisions.

I took a deep breath and enjoyed my privacy. It had been intense, not just for him but for me as well, firstly, dealing with a man who had no clue about that sort of thing and secondly, that man being the Joker. It was absolute madness.  
Yet, now that I knew that it worked out for him as well I could think about what to do next. I rubbed my eyes and just at that moment, a woman sat down next to me. She was obviously looking for a master but I told her with a half-sided smile that I was not available.  
Some moments later I just asked myself why exactly I had sent her off.

My thoughts wandered back to the man on the rack. It was unbelievable that he had opened up to me like that; that he had undressed just in front of me. Admitted, with some help, but though. I found myself being surprised at the uncomplicatedness, yet, before it all had started I had been sure that it was going to be a helpful experience for him.  
I bit down on my lip.  
Not just for him only.

I emptied the cup. The more time I had to think about this the more complicated things got for me so I got up and hurried upstairs again just to find him lying on the rack like before.  
I swallowed hard. What the fuck was I doing here? It was absurd. And it was tiring how elation and doubts were taking turns and ruining what actually should have been a piece of cake. There were two options left for me and I had to go with one and only one, finally: Either I could ignore all inhibitions and enjoy this as well or I could continue with worries, feelings of shame and guilt and I was sure that he would smell that and start to feel insecure about it too.

I would base my decision on his next reaction. I wanted to show him a means how to deal with that aggression, but I did not want to break him.  
I closed the door to show him that I was back, then I went to him and lightly brushed over his chest. He jerked and I clenched my teeth at finding myself the helpless victim of an approving dick.  
Sighing, I accepted that and swore to myself that I would lead him to the bitter end.

I started stroking his nipple gently and he turned his head. While I was caressing his chest I carefully removed the ball cage again and pulled the ring off. He was still hard.  
And honestly, I had never been so glad at seeing an erection. That man was a mystery to me. After all I had done he still waited for more. I shook my head and opened my mind for admiration.

With a kind of feeling which I rather would have liked to deny, I moved my hand over his chest and down his belly, then I left his skin for a moment to get around the rack. I sat down in front of his body and touched his navel, watching him reacting to that. It turned me on to give something the other did not expect.

Slowly, I traced down the thin line of hair until I reached his pubes. I drew circles in the thick hair and wound it around my finger. When I started caressing his balls with my other hand he finally made a sound which I identified as worry, but I touched them so carefully and lightly that soon, he put his head down again and abandoned himself to the touch.  
They seemed swollen and bruised from that one hit with the tawse and I didn’t mean to hurt him any more.

When I had touched every single hair of his pubes I moved further down and traced along the upper side of his dick. I didn’t keep in mind anymore that it was a man I was touching. Although those were highly sexual acts it still didn’t have anything to do with sex for me. When my fingertip had reached his glans he tensed up his feet which produced a cracking sound. His mind must have been as soft as butter by now. I smiled, feeling that I was giving him something very special.

For a moment, while I was circling his glans with my forefinger, I thought about whether to do that or not, but I found no reason why not to do that so I leaned forward and took his toe into my mouth. A moan told me that he experienced that as a very pleasurable sensation so I worked on his toes with my tongue, licking and sucking them, teasing the underside of his foot with the tip of my tongue and kissing every single toe while I gently moved my hand up and down his dick.  
What I intended to do with that was teasing him. I knew that he would have liked to use his hands and to be on top, but I would not allow him that. 

When I felt courageous enough to quit the dry training I let go of his foot and took his dick in my mouth. It was a weird taste and the scent of it served to confuse me enough to freeze and wait a few moments.  
He, in turn, had arched up in a silent moan. It looked like someone was defibrillating him without electricity; his chest moved up into the air in slow-motion before he tensed up every single back muscle to move it down as slowly as he had raised it.

He behaved like he was on drugs. Frowning, I started sucking his dick while I pulled out the electro plug. When I felt no resistance I had to assume that his sphincter had suffered such damage that he simply couldn't control it anymore. Again, deep concern spread in my mind and made me stop. It was time to face the damage; I could run from that no longer. I leaned forward and slowly started unbuttoning the part of the mask which was covering his eyes, but he suddenly turned his head to the side.

“Kay,” I said and swallowed. While I had had only my own concerns on my mind, I had not considered him still being in that special state at all and I didn't want to invade that heavenly place he had managed to find. Whatever he’d need now, I’d give it to him.

“You want me to remove the gag?” I tried again instead.

“Mmh.”

I took that as a Yes and lifted his head to remove it. By doing so saliva dropped on his chest and I bent down to lick it away. I didn’t know what made me do that but somehow, I felt like the bottom now.  
He swallowed several times until he seemed somewhat alright with the new situation and I decided to just ask him.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes”

It was a kind of voice I had never heard him use. It was breathy, emotional and so very personal.  
Being at a loss for words all of a sudden, I moved down again to continue sucking him. I’d have loved to gag myself now so that I didn’t need to talk, but that was not my part. I was afraid of what was to come, if I were honest. I could see it happening so clearly and at the same time, I felt so afraid of it. He had captured me, turned me around, twisted me around until I could no longer tell top from bottom. By doing nothing. Simply by doing nothing.

In the course of the event, I had completely lost myself in the tangle of suppressed needs, drives and desires and I felt angry for letting myself go so unreflectingly.  
Those feelings were the fuel to the fire which was consuming me and I couldn't help but act it out, now that I had someone taking it so readily. It didn't matter that he was part of the problem. Like that, he was also part of the solution.

Violently and without any consideration for him, I pushed my erection in and fucked him. I didn’t hear the scream and I didn’t feel him bucking at all; I just wanted this to end before I was going to suffer from permanent damage as well.  
My grip on his thighs was bruising, but I didn't care. I had crossed many lines, ignored many rules, now also including the one about barebacking, I had pushed myself into a dark vortex of power and control and I knew that I'd have to account for my actions later on, but right now, I didn't hold back anymore because I didn't care a pap for it, I just wanted to cleanse my soul as well.

And even in the middle of this violation, I wanted more. When I looked at his face I saw the glory of unleashed passion; his head was bent back and cries of pleasure left his open mouth. Nothing mattered anymore; it was just the logical end of this journey.  
Panting hard, I stopped with my dick in his ass and waited for a reaction. He closed his mouth to swallow and I watched his ribcage moving up and down fast, but he remained silent. I licked my lips and made my dick twitch to communicate with him.

“Beg.”

He opened his mouth again and I could _feel_ the impact of that little word on him. For some moments, he seemed to try to overcome that which was still left of his defiance but I knew that his lust would gain the upper hand and would make him beg. I enjoyed those moments of his internal fighting. It was all about that.

“Please,” he breathed, finally.

I smirked and closed my eyes, then I continued. Just a few thrusts later he came, exhaling the remnants of all that life which was left inside him and I came as well, bending over the bar where his legs were resting on, panting and moaning, forgetting, delivering myself and him from the world.

Exhausted, I rested on the bar and waited until I had somewhat caught up with the events of the last two minutes.  
Yes, that _had_ had something to do with sex, finally. As my senses returned, I was somewhat devastated at that.  
While I tried to get my brain back to work I glanced at him. He didn’t look like he’d be able to get up within the next hour. I just hoped he wouldn’t suddenly start talking. I didn’t want to hear one single word. Not one single fucking Awesome or Fuck or Asshole.

We had reached a kind of deadlock.  
We.  
I had reached a kind of deadlock with him. Things had happened exactly the way I had imagined it, even better than that and somehow, without me noticing, I had slipped into a sort of state which I didn’t approve of anymore. If I had not known better I’d have described it as having gotten carried away. Giving that a second thought, I realized that I didn’t know better at all. Maybe I was overthinking it anyway.

Pragmatically, I got back to my plan and step 4, which was about leaving. I’d think about that in the privacy of my home, this was not the right place nor the right time to decide about anything being right or wrong.  
I heaved my body up from the rack and by doing so my knee collided with his thigh. Anxiously, I looked at him as if I were afraid that I could have woken him up, yet he was still lying there as relaxed or exhausted as before, his eyes closed, a very odd look on his face. A smile that was neither a smirk nor a grin, something, in fact, I had never seen before.

Suddenly, I felt scared. On one hand, that expression showed me that I had not done anything wrong so I could flush my concerns down the drain while at the same time, that expression let me conclude that I might have overdone things and moved that into a direction which I had not intended at all.  
Anyway, that would be seen.

Careful not to touch him again, highly afraid of causing another dopamine explosion in that fucked up brain of his, I came down from the rack and got rid of the harness. My skin was still wet, but I got dressed though; I didn’t even want to shower there. While doing so I didn’t pretend to be extra silent, he should know what was going on. When I was done I stepped closer again and examined that newborn man. Forced thoughts about looking for the woman who had approached me in the bar floated through my head. I did my best to deny it all.

I freed him from the ties finally, but still he didn’t move. That stupid smile made me feel angry. It wasn’t meant to be like that. After all, I thought I had hurt him so much that he was going to hate me. His fury would be gone, but he’d at least hate me. Yet, that expression was not what I wanted to see.

“Got a souvenir for you to remember this,” I said with a flat voice and clenched a fist. No, I would not let him go with that frigging smile. I made my middle finger stand out a bit and hit his chest as forcefully as I dared to. I didn’t want to break his ribs, just give him something to think about for a long time.  
It hit him by surprise. It took his breath away and he shot up and hunched with pain, pressing a hand against the damaged rib. I cleared my throat in arrogance and turned around to leave. Satisfaction undermined that image of his which had burnt itself into my mind and the smile faded.

Just when I closed the door I heard an “Asshole!”. 

That was all which was left from that night.  
More than I had hoped for, actually. I went down the stairs and passed the desk clerk with the words “Send me the invoice as soon as he leaves. We’ve also used the leather mask, no idea where he’s gonna put it. And give him one of those collars,” I added.

When I finally sat in the cab I regretted the last sentence. Why did I have to be such an emotional wimp. It could have ended so perfectly and I’d just make it start all over again. I buried my face in my hands. I was an idiot.  
Just an idiot.

After considerable time, the man on the rack was finally able to get up. He almost _fell_ from the piece of furniture but he caught himself soon enough to not fall on his ribcage and get himself another broken rib. Muttering curses, he pulled the mask from his head and dropped it on the floor next to him, then he looked for his clothes and put them on, one piece after the other. When he was working on his shirt the pain had gotten so bad that he was short of air and had to sit down. However, that proved even more difficult since his bottom was so sore that it already hurt when he thought of sitting down. Instead, he decided to lean against the wall until he felt somewhat able to continue.

Ten long and painful minutes later, he left the room and went downstairs, which took him about another five minutes. Every step hurt, he felt it everywhere in his body. Raw, sore and ripped apart.  
When he passed the desk clerk, his eyes focusing on the exit in front of him, he got stopped.

“From your Master.”

He took a deep breath, regretted that instantly, carefully exhaled and turned around to look at the man behind the desk who was grinning at him in such an annoying fashion that he would have loved to punch his face a few times so that he’d smile a pretty toothless smile from then on.

“He’s not my Master,” he growled through clenched teeth.

It was inevitable that he dropped his gaze to see what that was.  
A leather collar with a big O-ring was lying on the desk, the clerks fingers teasingly playing with the ring.

“I think he _is_ ,” the clerk said with a gleeful voice.

He clenched his teeth again, snatched the collar and rushed towards the exit, adding a “Fuck you!” for that dickhead of a clerk who just sent the prepared invoice to Bruce Wayne.

600$.

The price of virginity.

____________


	2. The uninvited guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saturday evening and who’s knocking at the door?  
> Welcome back to another evening of orgasmic violence, nagging doubts, crossdressing maniacs and morally questionable practices, this time also featuring Mr. Half-digested-food!  
> (Bruce Wayne's POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's warning is for emetophobic readers.

** The uninvited guest **

On a Friday afternoon, someone rang the doorbell.  
I was in my day-off mood already and thus had switched to the dressing gown and plush slippers by that time, checking the last files in my bureau before the weekend, having a glass of wine. It was raining outside and I wondered who that could be, not expecting any visitors or businessmen at that time anymore. And as much as I knew, my calendar did not keep any surprises for me either since I had checked on that an hour ago before I had changed my clothes. I heard Alfred walking down the corridor and opening the door just to hear it being shut the next second.

“Master Bruce!”

Shit.

“Master Bruce!” I heard it echoing down the corridor towards me.

It couldn’t be.

“Master Bruce!” it came closer.

Not today. Not now.  
Please, never.

“Bruce!”

I bit down on my lip and hoped that he would tell me that it was just someone who wanted to sell us a vacuum cleaner for the 25th time this month.

“Master Bruce! There’s...”

He showed up in the doorway, his face red, he himself wildly gesticulating to make me understand by using pantomimic techniques. Or rather uncoordinated moves with his arms.

“Master Bruce, the Joker’s here!”

I closed my eyes and pinched the brick of my nose.  
What had I expected, leaving that offer behind in such a welcoming way. At the risk of repeating myself, but I was _such_ an idiot. I got up and passed him, saying nothing. As I approached the door I heard him following me, yet keeping sufficient distance. Already highly annoyed, I opened the door and found the Joker looking at me.  
He was dripping wet, his clothes hung from his body as did his hair, partly covering his eyes.

For a second, I looked at him, then I closed the door again and hoped that he would just toddle off. Keeping silence about this all, I passed Alfred again and went back to my office to finish my work.

“But, Master Bruce-“

“Go to sleep, Alfred,” I sighed, knowing that he had absolutely no idea what was just going on and that he’d try one more time before he’d do what I had told him.

“But, _Master Bruce_ -“

“Alfred.”

I heard an angry snort, then he turned around and went away.  
Papers from the last meeting. I couldn’t even remember what we had talked about. On the white paper, interspersed with black, I saw his face, his icy stare.  
Those were the eyes I didn’t want to see.  
I flipped some pages and looked for the memo of my assistant.  
“Inconsiderate practices”

Wayne Enterprises was going to make a sham deal with another company in order to help the revenue department nab them.  
“Abuse of authority”

I knew the head of that company and I had never trusted him. He tended to smile when it was needed and shake hands at every and any opportunity, looking his partners straight in the eye, telling them who the boss was. Nod and bow to me.  
Green eyes gave me a piercing look.  
I had reached out to him and now I couldn’t get rid of him anymore.  
Yet, I could be smug about making him come back since I had managed to make a man who bombed cities and kittens without batting an eye get on his knees and beg. 

One hour later, I went to the surveillance room and searched for the front door picture. He still was there, now sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, his arms resting on his knees. He would not leave until he’d get what he wanted. Sighing, I acknowledged that it was my fault.  
He could have searched for the perfect man or woman out there, but why did it have to be me. My ways were wrong; I didn’t stick to the rules and I was just a loose cannon once I had gotten going. And he _was_ getting me going.

“Fuck!” I yelled and hit the desk. 

It had started already.  
He drove me wild. Unable to see that these sexually connoted encounters were developing their own dynamics, I rushed out of the room and hurried to the door to open it. His mere presence just started the downward spiral again and once I had given in I could not escape anymore.

He got up and took a step towards me, his eyes brightening up, but I just grabbed him by his throat and pulled him inside. Furiously, I bent down and pulled the shoes from his feet, then I pushed him down the corridor into the bathroom where I forced him into the bathtub. I ripped his shirt apart; the buttons flew into all directions. Ignoring that, I pulled it from his arms together with the jacket, then I took his pants and put them on the heap of wet clothing.  
He was so baffled that he didn’t even say one word.

Determined to intimidate him right at the start of it all again to show him about the master in this house, I took the shower head and turned on the tap.  
A cry escaped him and he wriggled, protectively placing his arms in front of his body to somewhat escape the unrelenting torrent of ice-cold water. I, however, enjoyed what I did and I tore down his defence and moved the shower head up and down so the water would reach every spot of his body. He had already been wet when entering the bathtub, but I wanted to make sure that he understood that if he was so stupid as to see me in my own house he would have to pay for that.

When he was a shivering wreck, gasping for air, I turned off the tap, took some of the shower gel and reached for his dick. He twitched and squirmed at the touch, but I rubbed it in and even pulled back the prepuce to gel it up. After I had taken care of his balls I bluntly moved between his ass cheeks to clean his anus, which made him straighten his back and gasp again. With chattering teeth, he hugged himself then, trying to give himself some warmth, but it was futile. 

I turned on the tap again and washed the shower gel off, giving him another round of freezing cold splish splash fun. When I was satisfied I turned the water off, took a bath towel and threw it against his body. He could not react accordingly fast so it hit the wet floor of the tub, but he hurried to pick it up. 

“Dry yourself. I’ll get you some clothes,” I said and left the room.

With a plan in my head, I went to my dressing room and opened the cupboard next to the window. It had been years since I had opened it the last time.  
I looked through the clothes and finally decided for a favourite piece of mine. A long black silk evening gown.  
However, it needed more than a dress to change his look. I searched for the long black gloves, tights to match the dress and a fur bolero. Additionally, I put earrings and a necklace on top of the heap. 

Yet, still, two things were missing. I kept them in the second cupboard. One of them was a breast prosthesis and the second thing was resting in a secret drawer. In fact, it would be used for the first time and I was thrilled to see it in use. It was a special kind of concealing underwear which a ladyboy once had given to me. It resembled a jockstrap but it was a device to basically hide the penis and keep it in place so the crotch area would be flat, resembling a female one. 

I was curious whether he’d accept it, whether he was man enough to become a woman, but considering his camp attitude I’d be surprised if he weren’t. Grinning, I took the clothes, placed them in front of the bathroom door and then went to get him his shoes. Black high heels, prime whore boots. I chuckled at imagining him walking around with those. I wondered if he could walk around in them at all.

The image of him walking down the summer streets in hot pants, racerback shirt and bondage boots passed by. I pursed my lips, thinking that well possible. Anyway, if he wasn’t up for playing drag queen we’d just do some petticoating. This way or that way, I’d get what I wanted and I wanted to go out with a woman. If he was already ruining my evening I’d decide what to do.  
While he was getting dressed I went to my room to get dressed too. I chose a fine suit, white shirt and black tie, did my hair and added the Wayne seal ring.

I went back to the living room, took care of the fire and sat down with a drink. And as much as I tried to deny it, I was excited to see him in those clothes. At the same time, that familiar kind of anger killed my joy since I still had not resigned myself to taking the Joker out. I felt torn between enjoying and condemning it since I hated the fact that he caused these feelings.  
My reason was quick at saving me, telling me that he was not more than just some playing partner and merely a means to make me feel good. Just a disposable source of pleasure. 

Well, was he.

Footsteps translated in high heels hitting the stone floor told me that he was on the way. I put the glass on the table, propped my head up and waited for him to appear. Anger and excitement kept my mind so busy still that I couldn’t even visualize him in those clothes; it would be a surprise. And when he finally appeared, his pace slow, his posture totally different and his aura reduced to a feeling of insecurity, I froze. For a moment, my mind went blank, my body stopped to exist and my awareness faded until I wasn’t there anymore.

The man who stood under the stone arch of the living room threw himself into a pose now, suddenly having become aware of his potential. He was lean, wearing permanent make-up, so to say, and his body awareness was ten times higher than the one of an acrobat. Saucily, but still with a great sense of elegance which served to highlight the dress, he posed, sending me vibes which I just could not ignore. 

The black evening dress wound itself around his body in a way which left me speechless. The white fur together with those colours of black and the green of his hair was just dazzling and his feet resting in those high heels made me think up ways how to lick them.  
But the worst part about this all was his face. While I knew that he had not changed the faintest bit about it, not applied any extra make-up or put on false lashes it looked totally different and it made me forget, made me completely forget that it was a man I was looking at. Just the clothes served to change his face so absolutely.

Immediately, passion overwhelmed me and I got up and rushed towards him, grabbed his chin and pushed him against the wall. That turmoil inside my head had intensified the anger and I hated myself for falling for this serpent. The more glamorous he looked the angrier I got.

“Why does it have to be me? Why can’t it be someone else?!” I shouted, not caring about just exposing my purest self to him in a way which I usually would condemn.

He lowered his head and I meant to catch him glancing at my crotch so I violently lifted his head again.

“Cause no one understands me like you do,” he said and added a faint smile which made me feel helpless.

I wanted to hear everything but that. Knowing that it was true, I slapped him. His earrings made a metallic sound as his head snapped to the side. It felt like hitting a woman.  
Breathing hard, he touched the sore spot without looking at me. 

“You started this,” he whispered and I knew that what was going to come was even less what I wanted to hear. He licked his lips and shook his head to get his hair out of his face.

“If you had not been serious you never should have gotten me there.”

The same kind of argument, the same logical thoughts. They had kept me awake for nights.

“I just wanted to be a door opener, not the one who steps through with you.”

It felt like telling a woman that it was over. And it was this kind of situation when I felt bad about doing so. I frowned and tried to think about why exactly I felt bad.  
Simply because it felt so good. However, the problem was my pride. If I went further down in my emotional chaos, fear showed up. The fear that I could be abused. I was afraid of that man; I knew what he was capable of and countless times, he had toyed with me for his own entertainment, enjoying the power he had had over me. I feared that eventually, it would be the same one day if we continued like that.

“You chose to enter, together with me.”

I looked away from him and stared at the wall. Why couldn’t I simply tell him to fuck off.  
Because there were worlds waiting for me. Unique pleasures, bliss, distraction, the opportunity to shamelessly wallow in vice and a man who did not judge me for what I did, what I liked and what I considered as erotic. Apparently, he had abandoned the need to judge others and had established his own identity without constantly comparing himself to others. If there was no standard to live up to just everything was right and good.

I needed some acknowledgement, some acceptance, some affirmation. He turned his head to look at me, finding me at a loss for words.  
I couldn’t simply tell him to fuck off. But I could not keep certain things unsaid either. I sighed and searched for his eyes, making him understand that we were having a fundamental conversation about the future of either Us or two separate I’s. Yet, when I found out that eye contact didn’t help me to find any words either I simply turned around and took two glasses. 

Alcohol _always_ helped. It was a lie that it wasn’t a solution. People just _ab_ used it instead of using it. There was a huge difference between abuse and use and I prided myself on knowing when it made sense to make use of it. I knew myself well enough to realize when I needed it in order to solve a problem and I knew that I needed it now. It would help me to voice my feelings.

Meanwhile, he had sat down in front of the fire as well. He could be surprisingly patient.  
I returned with two filled glasses and the carafe and sat down. Before he could take his glass I had emptied mine and refilled it. I wanted it to be quick and easy. After the first glass, I stared into the fire until I felt my cheeks warming up. As if he had noticed that I would finally be ready to continue our talk he tried again.

“So what’s the problem,” he asked.

There was enough emotional distance in his voice to not scare me away. It was low and full of mysteries. If I dared to glance at him now I would have lost myself to the sight again so I kept staring at the dancing flames, thinking hard about an answer which wouldn’t tell him more than needed and enough to have him understand me. When I had come up with a supposedly clever filler I turned my head and looked at his eyes to avoid touching anything else of him.

“You.”

He gave a short laugh.

“That’s just typical of you. You always put the blame on others. Truth is, I ain’t the problem.”

“You’re right. You are not _the_ problem. You are _my_ problem.”

“And why exactly?”

He had a way of nailing me down. I was sure that he knew what I felt anyway and that I wouldn’t even need to put it into words. He sensed it, like a dog smells fear he could sense my commotion and the cause of it.  
Those confident eyes distracted me and I got back to staring at the fire. Hoping that more alcohol would make me talk, I downed the second drink and waited.

And after a long silent pause, when I knew that the alcohol had soaked up my brain to the extent I just had been waiting for, I turned to face him again and found him looking at me.  
Still.

“You’re unpredictable,” I said out of the blue and was proud that I finally had said something which actually made sense, sounded good _and_ tackled the problem.

He frowned and sipped his drink. No, that wasn’t it, he was right, but I needed more time to clothe the rest of my feelings into adequate words.

“I thought that was the thrill of it,” he replied.

“When we play, it is indeed the thrill of it, but it is far from being any thrill when we don’t play.”

“What?”

I knew that I had not had enough alcohol yet to talk in riddles but that rather he wasn’t able to follow my line of thoughts.

“I am talking about the time when we _don’t_ play. You’re just unpredictable.”

“Okay? And I thought I would not come to you at all when we don’t play.”

I had already inhaled to reply something when I realized that I should give it a second thought and held my breath. In fact, he was right. I had talked myself into bullshit. Sighing, I rubbed my eyes and tried to hide them from him.

“Yeah,” I let it flow from my mouth and cleared my throat.

“So?” he pressed me.

“It’s wrong!” I suddenly heard my angry voice shattering across the room before I could analyze my thoughts and hold back. That was the moment when I could not contain all those conflicting feelings anymore and had to act them out. He was the source, the problem and the cure. It would be so easy to ditch him and get rid of that all. But secretly, I knew that I’d never meet such a willing and resilient slave again. So I threw a fit, one of those I was famous for by now.

“It’s just, you and me are not supposed to meet! It drives me mad, every moment we spend together pushes me further into hell; you burn me up and I hate that, I fucking hate that!!!” I yelled, summarizing the problem for him. 

When I became aware of myself again I was standing in front of him, boiling with rage. But I felt better, if just a little.  
However, he did something then which sent me over the edge.  
The smirk which showed up in his face spoke of utter pleasure, approval and the determination to just send me into exactly that state over and over and over again.  
Because he enjoyed it. 

It was what he needed. I had managed to move that game of destruction and attention to a more personal level, away from the Batman and the city and closer to me, Bruce Wayne, granted, but I was so new to it that my fears took over and I felt like I had to protect myself and offence was the best defence.  
Mad as hell, I slapped him and he dropped the glass. It broke. While he tried to regain his composure I picked up a shard, grabbed a handful of green hair, pulled his head up and pressed the glass against his carotid.

“Don’t fuck with me,” I hissed.

Gradually, I was losing track of when we were playing and when we weren’t.  
It was supposed to be clearly separated, but the more time I spend in his orbit the more that important line got blurred.  
I took a deep breath and decided that I wanted to choose a side for now and stay with that decision for the next hour at least.

“We should handle that like civilized people,” I stated, ran my fingers through my hair and got up. Whenever he was reaching out for me like that, manipulating me to get what he wanted, I had to remain calm and become aware of his abuse in order to stop it.  
Wordlessly, I dropped the shard and went to my office to get the phone and change the setting; back to my plan. It was a number I had not dialled for a long time anymore and I hoped that it still would work.

“Wayne. Is Vic still working for you?”

“Vic. No. Vic’s dropped out of the business years ago. But I can recommend Nick to you.”

The voice sounded familiar and instantly, I felt a shiver running down my spine. Memories. Pain, sweat, hard flesh and orgasms.

“Send me Nick,” I finally managed to say when the images kindly left me again.

“15 minutes.”

“Okay.”

I hung up and went back to the fireplace, sat down and poured me another drink. When I leaned back, avoiding looking at him at all, I regretted what had happened before because it made me feel vulnerable all of a sudden. He had seen my real self, _again_ ; that self which Batman and Bruce Wayne tried to hide. But he had seen it before already, so I had to remind myself, and he had come to see me again. How could I just turn this around.

“If you ever... _ever_ turn against me in this I will kill myself,” I stated as calmly as I could while I turned my head to fix his eyes.

I chose to exaggerate, to make it sound as grave as I could in order to convince him of how afraid I was of trusting him. I simply could have regarded it as a playing opportunity, but I had to admit that there were some kind of feelings involved which kept me from dealing with it on a purely superficial or objective level. They were there, I tried not to judge them, to view them as a given thing and not think badly of them. It wouldn’t help now. Those were the facts and it was his turn now to decide whether he could handle them.

It was him now who was lost for words. I could see that he was trying to imagine what it would be like if it ever came to that. Reasoning, analyzing emotions, needs, weighing possibilities; it all took place within seconds in front of me.

“Leave if you don’t agree on it,” I said finally, to make it easier for him to continue.

Stubbornly, he kept staring at me, pursing his lips. My fear and his, a great couple, a source of never-ending friction.  
However, then I realized that there was more to it. In fact, I was in top position: He had come to me, asking me for something. I had something which he wanted, thus I had him by the short and curlies. I could lay down the rules and I could decide how we would play.

When I smirked he clenched his teeth and his look darkened. Obviously, I had found out what he had tried to hide from me. The fact that I was in power, controlling him and the situation.  
I thought that he would know now where his place was. As he descended I ascended and as he lost power I gained it. When we had levelled out, having reached the balance we were supposed to have anyway, I changed sides and switched to playing mode.

“We’re going out tonight,” I started, making him look at me. I tried to present the facts as matter-of-factly as possible so that he wouldn’t even think of objecting.

“We’re going to a restaurant, first class, just good enough for your sorry ass. And if you say just one word, I warn you, _one_ word while we’re out in public you’re gonna pay for that and I’m serious about it. You get me?”

He gave me his most seductive look, making me feel like _I_ had to stick to some rule and not him. The longer I stared at his face the more I forgot that I was looking at that specific man. He was talented as an actor, able to keep a straight face for minutes without showing any sign of discomfort. I was sure that he had many talents but was just using half of them.  
We spent about ten minutes in silence before I looked at the watch and got up.

“Follow me.”

He followed me to the dressing room where I gave him a coat, then I got dressed as well and we left the house to enter the taxi.

“Good evening, Sir,” Nick greeted me. His voice already told me that he was the most discreet man in town right now and that he never would ask questions.

“Good evening, Nick,” I replied cheerfully.

When the Joker had sat down next to me and had finally found out how to sit comfortably despite his dick being forced between his legs I told the driver about the address.  
Twenty minutes later he stopped right in front of the restaurant, I paid and he left again and I knew that he would never lose a word about having chauffeured Bruce Wayne and quite a strange woman tonight.  
We entered the restaurant, dropped our coats and got ourselves a seat.

He looked at me expectantly. I just smiled and took the menu to skim it. Just one minute later the waiter came to ask us about aperitifs. I ordered Campari Orange for both of us. He propped his head up and looked at me, obviously being amused at the cheerless prospect of two hours of silence. With an arrogant smirk I leaned back and kept looking at him as well until the aperitif was placed on the table. 

“Menu two, for me and for her,” I informed him and the waiter left us to our silence again.

It was tempting. I thought about starting a monologue about business stuff or keeping silence and devouring him with my eyes instead until I finally realized that it was much more teasing to keep silence. I let my eyes wander down his body and undress him. White skin, meticulously hidden by silk, fur and more silk, made me shudder. I chose to indulge in it; I could have looked at the other guests just as well, boring myself to death, but I chose to get aroused by those thoughts, deliberately.  
Who would judge me?

Small but firm white breasts appeared under the dress with dainty rosy areolas encircling stiff nipples; a teasing sight inviting me to make them even stiffer. I watched them moving faintly as he breathed, barely up and barely down but enough to hypnotize me. I wanted to circle that areola and run my finger down that firm pale apple, trace along the fold of his breast and lick it, take that piece of tasty flesh into my mouth and suck it gently.  
My erection met with the underside of the table.

Gently, I would kiss the space between his breasts, that bony field, further up until I would arrive at his collarbone. So outstanding, so well-defined; I’d kiss it, lick it, even bite it lightly.  
My hand slid between my legs to squeeze my hard-on. I knew that he noticed that, but it was one of the things I enjoyed when I was with him: He didn’t laugh at such things; he just accepted me the way I was. 

Instantly, those thoughts about him pulled my mind back to his body. I’d leave my hand on his collarbone and move down, renew the wet trail between his breasts and conquer his belly. I sojourned at that place for a while, testing the consistency of that flat part with my lips and teeth until I was courageous enough to continue my expedition.  
A white plain showed up which abruptly turned into a gentle hill. Upon further inspection, the hill parted and lined a glen. Light green grass grew on the hills and it looked so lush that I wanted to stick my nose into it.

Which I did.  
Lily of the valley.  
Dulcid, tangy and promising.

White legs parted to allow me to dig deeper.  
As I pressed the tip of my nose against the soft little round well of unimaginable pleasures my tongue darted out to explore the cave under it. It was sealed by fleshy curtains which had grown thick, full of blood to prepare them for the ultimate battle. Bravely, I pushed them aside with my tongue and exposed a labyrinth of delights. Before I would give my attention to the wet cavern below the surface I stimulated his urethral orifice which made him jerk. He might not have been used to that.

I turned to the openings of the Skene glands to see if I were luckier there. He let me do as I liked, further spreading his legs. It was a new experience for him, I could relate to his excitement at being touched in places he had not had before.  
When I was done sanctifying these orifices I turned to the big one just to find out that it was leaking white fluid. I considered that a great honour, showing me that my skills were sufficient to arouse him, even in this new situation.

With pleasure, I licked the fluid from the soft tissue and carefully spread the inner labia. A dark abyss gaped at me. I knew that it was full of mysteries and I wanted to reveal at least one of those. Thirsty for more of that sweet white champagne, I stuck my tongue in and twisted it around.  
He tensed his muscles and moaned while pressing his legs together and locking my head between them. I took it as an encouragement to continue. 

While I explored that sanctum with my tongue he squirmed and buried his fingers in my hair, pressing my head down. I got it and made sure to touch every millimetre of that tunnel and paint the walls of the caves with my saliva, then I drew back and started teasing the clitoris, which was pumped full of blood by now, ripe and ready. Gently, I pulled back the prepuce.

The little knob had swollen to its full size and I could feel it begging to explode. Smirking, I let my tongue slide over it, moved it around, circled it and finally teased it in a fast rhythm which made him double over finally. I felt it twitching under my touch and continued my tease until he shut his legs to stop me and I stopped, gently breathing against the quivering bit of flesh and lightly stroking his thighs.  
Never before had I watched a clitoral orgasm happening to a man.

I swallowed hard and realized that I had two options: Either I went to the lavatory to jerk off in the most passionate way or I remained seated and stood that deadly boner and lose four years of life time that way.  
The man in front of me was grinning at me in a way which told me that he knew exactly what was going on.  
Mind sex.

Green eyes had watched, every detail, every dirty thought, every secret desire, every wordless plea.  
I didn’t care. He was at my disposal and I could do to him what I pleased.

My food was cold by now. I took a deep breath, took fork and spoon and started shovelling the cold stuff into my mouth. Maybe that would turn me off.  
It didn’t take long and the waiter came to take the empty plate along just to serve us the main dish.  
Silently, we ate. 

I couldn’t tell whether it was good or not since I only put that squishy stuff inside my mouth to do something else than fantasize about the Joker’s vulva.  
When he suddenly waved the waiter over I eyed him suspiciously.

“I need more wine,” he whispered and smiled innocently at me.

His low manly voice caught me by surprise.  
When the waiter arrived I told him that he should refill our glasses, then I sent him off again. That little thrill had just served to wake me from my dreams for good and I was able to get back to my role. I ate some more, then I pushed the plate away and leaned back, waiting for him to finish.  
Eventually, he put the cutlery down as well and I moved closer and said: “Follow me.”

I got up and he did the same, following me to the lavatory area where I entered the men’s room. He was still behind me. When I had checked for men and hadn’t seen any I pushed him into a cabin, joined him and locked it.  
A broad smirk greeted me when I turned to face him. I would fuck him now.  
Yeah.  
Like hell.

“Get down on your knees and throw up.”

The smirk faded.

“I said, get down on your knees and throw up!” I yelled and pushed him down. He tripped up on his own feet and his knees hit the floor. It was quite cramped in there so he just found himself hugging the loo seat. I leaned against the cabin wall and unbuttoned my pants with a smile. Before he took action he looked up at me again to make sure he was doing it right. Apparently, he had no idea what about this could turn me on so he checked on me for further instructions.

“Go ahead,” I smiled and returned a gloating look.

Still eying me, he stuck two fingers into his mouth and the gag reflex made him double over immediately. I watched his body convulsing; every move I followed with my eyes, putting my hand on my dick under the fabric of my fine dress pants, lazily stroking it.  
Liquid, half-digested food gushed out of his mouth and I kicked him into his side, commanding: “Let me hear some noise, will you.”

He let the last drops leave his mouth, then he spat out and tortured his velum again, just to give in to another attack. This time, he didn’t hold back and threw up as noisily as he could. Tears streamed down his cheeks, even if he had wanted to suppress them it wouldn’t have been possible. 

The sounds, the images, like watching him convulsing his body and the feeling of exerting power turned me on so much that my dick grew to full size within a minute. There was no chance he could have play-acted or behaved in any other way; he was forced to be himself and he was vulnerable that way. And I fed on that.  
Exhausted, he moved back from the toilet and wiped his chin just when I was in the middle of an exquisite wank. 

“Come on, there’s more to come,” I spoke down to him, “look at that, not even half of it.”

I knew that he just needed a moment to recover, but I wanted to cross his limits. I always wanted to cross his limits and enjoy that power. 

“Continue!” I shouted and kicked him again, feeling my dick involuntarily twitching at that.

He obeyed, by now understanding that all I did made sense, even if he didn’t understand it. Panting, he leaned forward and before he had even touched his velum he vomited again, this time squirming and gasping. His fingers clutched at the seat and his eyes were closed and wet. Unabashedly, I fed on his distress and pumped my dick, every sound he made doubling my pleasure until I was close to orgasm. I tightly squeezed my dick and held back since I wanted to come in a special place. I was such a closet pervert.

When he was done he spat out several times and wiped his mouth clean, then his body fell back and hit the wall of the cabin. I was just standing in front of him, my hand on my hard dick when he looked up with wet and weary eyes. It was hard to tell what he was feeling right now, whether he was disgusted or pleased too. And since his dick was still tied back I could not tell from its condition either. Yet, in the end, I wouldn’t have to care. That was the good thing about teaching him; no matter whether it pleased him or not, I could do it, simply because he was beyond sexual sadomasochism. If it didn’t appeal to his sexual masochism it would satisfy his real masochism.

“That’s all?”

He closed his eyes and nodded.

“Not enough.”

He let me hear a tired laugh and wiped his eyes, then ran his fingers through his hair. It was wet from his sweat.

“But that’s all.”

“Let me check that,” I said and dropped my pants. Before he realized what I was about to do I had gotten a handful of hair to hold his head in place. _When_ he realized what was going to happen it happened already. Violently, I pushed my dick into his mouth and facefucked him. 

I loved it; how his head hit the wall and the sounds he made when my dick violently met with the very back of his mouth. The sensation which his retching caused was just heavenly. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the lovely feeling of those walls of his throat massaging my dick so gently. He tried to break free and hit me several times, but I just drew back and slapped him. He gave up resistance and I continued fucking him.

It would not have taken me long to come, but I wanted it to take longer so I slowed down and pushed my dick in as much as I could while rubbing my pubes against his nose. He panicked, unable to breathe anymore at all and tried to get up, but I didn’t let him. I watched him trying to heave his guts up and I couldn’t help the broad smirk from showing. Desperately, he tried to push me away; his high-heels grating against the floor as he sought to find purchase on the ground to get up. 

When I felt that he was sufficiently exhausted I withdrew and gave him a moment to catch his breath. It didn’t really work out the way he needed it since he fell into a fit of coughing. Grinning madly, I lifted his head again and continued our rough meeting until I came in his mouth, or rather in his gullet.  
Since his body thus fell into utter confusion and he didn’t know whether to inhale, exhale, swallow or throw up anymore he tried to do all that at the same time, making it all worse.

Helplessly, he choked on my cum and started coughing and gagging at the same time, which made the semen flow from his nose. When his coughing became too intense I removed my dick and leaned against the door, my hand gently calming my genital down.  
He bent forward and threw up again. His body was shaking terribly and just when the gagging turned into coughing again his arm gave way and his head almost hit the floor.

“I see,” I said casually, “You were right. That was all.”

I enjoyed being an asshole.  
Since cum and saliva were on my pants I left the cabin to clean them, leaving him behind. On purpose, I had not closed the door so anyone entering would have seen him crouching on the floor in sheer misery and exhaustion.

Smirking, I looked at myself in the mirror, hitting on an idea. I would leave him there, leave him for the next man who would enter and expose him to pure embarrassment. Quickly, I cleaned my pants, then buttoned them up and kept the shirt outside so it would cover the wet spots. 

I joined him in the cabin again and reached under the dress to free him from the tights. He had no idea as for what I wanted from him, but I pulled the shoes from his feet and then violently tugged at the plastic skin until it tore and I could remove it. Then I spread is legs and reached between them again. He made a move to keep me from that but as always, I pushed his hands away and pulled the gaff over his legs. I came off victorious and put it into my pocket. 

“Whenever you’re ready, come back,” I said without looking at him again and left the facility. Without any shame or guilt, I went back to our table and ordered another glass of wine and the dessert.  
While I enjoyed my chocolate mousse, I watched a man heading for the toilets. If I had not had a mouthful of molten chocolate in my mouth I would have smirked an awful smile, but I had to keep my mouth shut and swallow first, before I could envision the following scene.

“Oh my god. Are you alright?”

My man in disguise knew that sooner, like within a second if he chose to reply, or later, within a minute, that man would get to see that he was just another man dressed in femme clothes, a transvestite, transsexual or an MTF or whatever silly thing he would have liked to call himself. This was an upper class restaurant and never, _never_ would they allow any individual to enter the premises like that, and if that he or she was just as beautiful as Godiva; it was strictly for straight and cisgender men and women.

The Joker sat on the floor, his head bent, gnawing on his lower lip. For the first time in his new life, after he had left the pool of chemicals and found out that he looked like a living freak now, he felt ashamed. He was amazed that someone had managed to make him feel embarrassed and he savoured that feeling. Instantly, his dick woke up and he shifted on the floor and tried to pull his dress down since he feared that his erection could be seen.  
The man who watched him took it as a sign of discomfort and traumatisation.

“I won’t hurt you, it’s alright,” he tried to calm him down.

He knelt down and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

When that woman didn’t say anything he tried again: “It’s important that you tell me, maybe he’s still here and we can call the police.”

Gently, he patted his shoulder to show her that she was safe now and that no more violence would be done to her.

“Did he abuse you?”

_Oh yes, he had._

“You need to tell me; you might need a doctor, please.”

He took a look at the floor, his eyes searching for blood.  
Meanwhile, the man next to him was hard, yet, hiding his erection with his hand by pressing his dick down.

“What’s your name?”

In complete silence, his lips moved and he bore a smirk of the worst kind.

“Joker,” he replied mischievously and turned his head to show the man his manly face.

The man was shocked at that sight. And the other man burst into laughter, his body shaking and coiling. It had been quite some time since he had told a good joke, lacking all motivation and some victim, but no doubt, this one was the joke of the month.  
Still caught with surprise, the man just moved back a little and the Joker found the space to get up. He straightened his back and tugged at the dress, however, his hard-on was showing so bluntly that it just sent him into another laughing fit.

Meanwhile, in the restaurant area, I chuckled to myself and hid my eyes with my hand. However, a few moments later when I watched him strutting out of the restroom area I choked on my chuckles. 

“Watch out! It’s the Joker! Watch out!” I heard it coming from the lavatory.

People stopped talking and turned to search for the source of the voice and when they spotted the green hair they shrieked and yelled and jumped from their seats, yet, they hid behind the tables, curiosity making them stay to watch the villain entering the scene. I got up from my seat and launched the save-my-pride manoeuvre. First, I opened my eyes wide and watched him coming closer, then I yelled: “Oh good Lord! I thought it was a woman! How could I be so stupid as to not see that, oh good Lord!”  
Additionally, I hit the table to express my anger.

Still yelling how unbelievably stupid I had been to be deceived like that, I waited until he had reached our table. He picked up the fish knife and approached me, grinning. I gave a shriek of fear. It was all very comic, but it was necessary so even the dumbest asshole in this room would get it.

“Give me your wallet,” he said benevolently, still smiling.

“Or what, you sucky tranny?” I replied, trying to make it as hard for him as well to leave this place. I’d have loved to punch his face, but I didn’t want to behave out of character. Plus, if I started my punishment right here and had him lying on the floor with a bleeding nose and aching bones I would have had to call Arkham or someone else would have had to call Arkham and I did not want to send him back there. I had to give him the chance to escape.

“Oh, wanna play the brave one, Wayne? As you please. Or I’ll kill you with the fish knife,” he replied, pressing the tip of the knife against my chest. 

“I’d really like to see that,” I said, grinning.

“Yeah, I bet so,” he snarled, turned around and ran towards a bunch of people. While I watched his ass cheeks busily bouncing up and down in that tight black dress I had to bite back a laugh.  
They tried to flee, but he caught a lady who wasn’t fast enough. She almost suffered a heart attack when he pressed her against his body and the knife against her throat. A classic situation. It was exactly that which I hated. In the end, he _was_ unpredictable. But he also knew that if he harmed her I’d never even look at him again. I had to pay attention to so many facts and rules between us that I almost forgot to have some fun.

“Your wallet,” he repeated with a bored voice.

“Son of a bitch,” I huffed and took it out. 

I started walking towards him and when I was about three meters away he told me to stop and I threw it into his direction, carefully aiming so that he would be able to catch it with ease.

“Much appreciated.”

He put it into the bra, pushed the woman towards me and started running. I dodged her and followed him outside. Maniac laughter to my left showed me the way and I kept running until he stopped in a darker alley. Out of breath, he leaned against the wall and reached between his plastic breasts to pull out the wallet. He waited for me, looking at me in a mix of excitement and glee. I stopped in front of him, took the wallet, put it away and hit his face as hard as I could, then I rammed his guts with my knee so he doubled over, but I made him look up again by hitting his forehead with my knee. It was the standard choreography; oldies but goldies.

When he wiped the blood from his lips I slapped him again and then I kicked his ass so he stumbled and fell down. I was hard, but I couldn’t just fuck him again. It was supposed to be punishment and I knew that he’d enjoy it if I gave in now. On the other hand, I wasn’t too sure about him taking pleasure from this all so I decided to continue. Breathing hard, I reached for him and pulled his body up again to give him some punches into his guts to make sure he would piss blood. When I felt somewhat satisfied I punched his eye to give him a unique souvenir from this time and then I let go. He slumped down, coughing.

“Not _one_ word in public, I said. You’ve fucked up big time, you bleeding git.”

I lightly kicked the mess of black fabric, green hair and red liquid in front of me and it reacted by moaning.

Silently, I took out the phone and called Nick.  
Five minutes.  
“Get up, you stupid bitch,” I said and pulled his body up again. He could barely get his feet on the ground and even less stand on his own in those shoes. Ignoring his weakness, I put his arm over my shoulders and made him move. We stepped into the light of the street lamps and I leaned him against one. He hugged it on his own to keep himself up.  
When the taxi arrived I opened the door and pushed him in, then I followed.

“Wayne Manor.”

“Sir.”

I kept looking at the driving mirror to see if that man was more curious than he should be, but he refrained from checking on us. I made myself comfortable while the Joker had managed to lie down on the backseat, bleeding all over the seats.

“Man, clean your nose, you dirty pig,” I reprimanded him and took a handkerchief which I pressed against his nose. Eventually, I felt his hand feebly pressing against mine so I removed it and left him to his fate.

After a generous tip I left the car at Wayne Manor and opened the door, pulled the Joker out of the taxi and dragged him along to the front door. While I unlocked it he leaned against it and I opened it without any warning so he fell backwards into Wayne Manor.  
He had not said a word since we had left the restaurant. Yet, I enjoyed being so rough with him, pushing him from one place to the other.

I ignored him, passed his body and went to the dressing room to change into comfortable clothes. I took my time and when I got to the living room he was already sitting on the sofa, trying to get rid of the shoes. Before I tended to his understandable needs I fanned the embers and added some wood, then I pulled the shoes from his feet. He looked tired and worn.

With a chuckle, I put the shoes on the table and went to the kitchen where I got me a small brown vial from the first aid cupboard. I poured the content into a glass, filled it up with water and added a dash of lemon to change the taste. I was sure that he’d need some water after that episode.  
Before I could put it on the table he took it from my hand and emptied it. So we could proceed. With growing excitement, I went to the bar cupboard and poured us two drinks.

By the time I had sat down his nose had stopped bleeding for good, but his face was still smeared with blood. It was hard to read his face and at first sight, he just seemed tired. Mission accomplished; I had turned him into a wreck again. I chose to sit back and wait. He cleared his throat and made me look at him again when he just swallowed the alcohol. I had left the bottle on the table and he made use of that offer and refilled the glass. It reminded me of mine and I also took a swig, then I forced myself to look at the fire. 

If I had kept staring at him he would have noticed that something was on the way and I did not want him to have the vaguest premonition that soon, there was more to come.  
Yet, it demanded patience. Some time for him to recover and some time for me to recall the events of the evening. Inevitably, I came to the conclusion that what I had done would be too much for him, but in the end, that was the point of it. Yet, the way he was sitting there told me that there still was some fire left and we could have another round. I was curious and glanced at him. He had crossed his legs and was just sipping his drink. 

He was the perfect toy. An unquenchable thirst for humiliation, pain and excess.  
Sighing, I looked back at the flames.  
A distinct sound made me look at him again, finally. Pearls of sweat were on his forehead and he looked a little dazed. He cleared his throat and swallowed. 

My hard-on was back and I crossed my legs to hide it, just for some more time until he would give in. He wiped his forehead dry and sat up, visibly confused at what was happening to his body right now.  
When he tried to suppress a cough I knew that it wouldn’t take long anymore. It was already in his system and the excitement I felt at thinking of the next few moments was unbearable.  
Suddenly, he bent forward, moaning. More coughing followed until he was able to sit up again. Tortured eyes asked me what was happening. I replied with a silent smirk.

“What the fuck have you done?” he gasped out and pressed his hand against his stomach.

“Punishment,” I smiled and leaned back in my chair to make myself comfortable.

He groaned and lay down on the couch, curling up. I reached for his hand and tried to take his pulse but he pulled it away. Pursing my lips, I acknowledged that I had really pissed him off now. That made me smirk and I went back to enjoying the show from my chair, sipping my drink.

“Make it stop,” he whispered, then he burst into coughing again. It was a spasmodic and productive kind of cough and to many, it would have sounded awful but to me, it was like music. When he finally was able to stop his breath came in fits and sounded like metal grinding against stone. His eyes spoke of utter distress. When he gave a whimper of pain I moved to the edge of my chair and bent down to be closer to him.

“I can’t,” I said, not trying to hide the glee from showing in my voice at all. I watched him squirming for another moment, then I continued: “And that’s the thrill of it. Tunnel Games. I can’t make it stop at all, sorry. You’ll have to go through every single stage,” I said, grinning.

“You’re kidding me,” he panted and closed his eyes before he coughed up some mucus again. His airways were congested with phlegm.  
I bit down on my finger, smiling joyfully when phase three started. He made a sound as if he tried to throw up, then he quickly sat up and clutched at the cushions, sweat running down his face. I inhaled sharply when he bent forward and started one last attempt at suppressing it, but it was no use. 

The next moment he projectile vomited across the table, tears streaming down his cheeks.  
Fascinated by that sight I sat up and forgot all sense of decency. He had no choice but to give in and that turned me on. I couldn’t resist and I didn’t even try to anymore.  
I was a sick pervert, but I had warned him.

Moaning, he leaned back and took a deep breath. When his stomach made a squelchy sound he curled up again, breathing hard.

“I can’t go on any more,” he panted, then he cleared his throat and burst into a retching cough.

“You’ll have to.”

My hand was on my dick. Something told me that I was the worst man on earth, the most depraved, sickest psychopath, way beyond any villain in Gotham, beating them all and needing treatment more than any of them.  
And at the same time, another voice told me that that was just me.  
And that it was alright.

I closed my eyes and listened to his desperate attempts at getting rid of the mucus in his airways. I abandoned myself to the images which popped up in my head and started stroking my dick. It was the helplessness he was facing, his mind forced to bow to his body, unable to control it anymore. Loss of control.

“Bruce...”

I heard my name between wet coughs; a desperate whispering voice. When I opened my eyes again I found him lying on the couch, a picture of misery, still gagging. His eyes were just tiny slits, his face was wet, saliva trickled down his chin and wetted the cushion.

That was too much.  
But I didn’t know how to stop it indeed. I had to pretend to enjoy it, otherwise he might have lost his trust in me. 

“Next time, you’ll think twice about breaking a rule, will you.”

More gagging kept him from answering. What had just been a supreme kink suddenly turned into a horrible nightmare. I hoped that it would stop soon.  
But it didn’t.  
For another thirty minutes, he lay on the sofa, gagging and coughing, making me feel like facing eternity. However, eventually, it ebbed away. Any thoughts about masturbating were as far away as they just could have been. I was still leaning in my chair, anxiously watching him when the gagging stopped completely and the only sound we heard was the crackling of the fire again. 

Relieved that it was over, I took a deep breath and ran my fingers through my hair.  
What was I supposed to do with him? I’d kill him one day. I knew that. One day, our play would escalate or we’d face an accident and he’d die. I hoped he wouldn’t come to me again next time and that I had carried our session to uncomfortable extremes. It was meant to be extreme, but at some point I had come to ask myself whether I had gone too far. I didn’t like that question since it implied that I had done something I usually would not approve of.

Every time we met he managed to release something inside me which I just did not want to deal with. It was there, granted, and I accepted that, but I just did not want to be its victim. I hated it, as tempting as it was; especially because there were those regrets every time.  
He spat out.  
3am.  
Alfred would get up at 6am. But it didn’t matter, he’d ask questions about the Joker’s appearance that evening anyway.

Sighing, I got up and undressed him. It was easy since he didn’t try to keep me from it; he was totally spent. I brought the clothes to my sleeping room and got me a blanket which I spread over his body. Even if it was him, I could not just send him away like that. 

Then, I took care of the mess on the table and on the floor. It took me half an hour to clean up, but I didn’t want Alfred to do that. I flushed the used towels down the toilet and went to check on him for one last time. He had closed his eyes and did not seem interested in me anymore at all.

Maybe he would not visit me again. Hopefully, he was grossed out enough to hate me, finally and look for someone else. My behaviour was dangerous and I had to admit that I was looking for relief in the excess as well; I wasn’t any different from him. I had not been aware of missing something, but apparently, it was still there, controlling me. He had connected with me on a very primitive level. Archaic rites of violence, as old as mankind.

“Fuck!” I yelled again, remembering the same mixture of feelings earlier that evening when I had watched him in the surveillance room. Desperation, helplessness, fear, longing.

I might have been his master when we played, but in fact, I was just his slave.  
My mind felt sore and I needed to get away from myself and those thoughts. I felt abused, realizing that I had allowed myself to join that game again with total commitment. Resistance seemed futile; it had taken control of me the very instant I had seen him already. And it wouldn’t be any different the next time he’d show up.  
I hoped he wouldn’t.

Sighing, I switched off the light in the living room and went to my sleeping room. I trusted him to not behave mischievously.  
And indeed, in the morning, when I got up and went to the kitchen for coffee, the living room was empty and the clothes from the bathroom gone.

“Good morning, Sir.”

“Good morning, Alfred.”

Three.  
Two.  
One.

“Master Bruce...”

Yes.  
It had been the Joker.  
Yes, I had made him put on drag clothes.  
Yes, I had taken him out to my favourite restaurant.  
Yes, I had eaten his pussy.  
Yes, I had fucked his throat.  
Yes, I had acted the idiot and given him my wallet.  
Yes, I had beaten the living daylights out of him.  
Yes, I had overdosed him on ipecac.  
And yes, I had enjoyed all of that.  
_All of that._

“Alfred...just give me a moment to wake up, will you.”

_____


	3. Elegy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Joker's looking forward to another night of wicked pleasures; however, a new acquaintance upsets the applecart and raises a fundamental question.  
> (Joker's POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Visual impressions n°1:  
> X Ways  
> https://www.deviantart.com/triyune/art/X-ways-836459886

**Elegy**

It was the second time when I crawled under the blanket after a horribly long journey through the night, my body aching and my mind dealing with a sensory overload.  
I dropped the clothes on the floor and curled up on the bed as I was; dirty and sweaty. However, I would have been disappointed if he had left me in a state where I was still able to consider taking a shower. Every time, he left me wasted, making sure to add just a little more to push me beyond my limits and erase the need for violence completely.

After the first time, I had already recognized the potential and thrill of it, finding out that there were more things in this world which could calm that indescribable need than terrorizing a town.  
If I thought about it I could not explain it. I just knew that my life had suddenly become more intense when that need had showed up the first time. It had taken me a while to identifiy it and see what it actually was about and it had been at a time when I had lost everything anyway so I simply decided to go for it and look for satisfaction. It had been the only thing left.

And it wasn't just the misery of others; there was a very physical component involved as well. I needed my body to interact with the surroundings; whether it was by making it hurt someone with a knife or having a fist fight with the Bat. And even if I blew up things it was a very sensual experience since the power I could witness when a bomb exploded and took everything with it was a very physical, material one. My body was a battlefield and I had to ensure the supply of weapons.

During the following weeks, I lived on the memories of that night. Whenever I looked at myself in the mirror and saw the blue eye I felt warmth spreading in my guts. And if those memories were about to fade away though, I went to the toilet to throw up.  
Never in a million years would I have considered that action to be erotically connoted, but it would be explicitly erotic for the rest of my life now. Somehow, it was a mystery to me how easily I could change my mind about those things. I had believed that I had been born with a specific anf fixed set of turn-ons and that my sexuality couldn't be modified, but these experiences had proven me otherwise. 

It wasn't hard for me to accept it since I regarded it as an enrichment. Usually, I was just a hardheaded egocentric who would steadfastly refuse to learn anything from anyone, but if it was forced down my throat so violently I had no choice but to swallow it. 

And the fact that it was shoved down my throat by someone who usually acted either a straight and boring man or a righteous vigilante with an extraordinate sense of justice served to make it inherently erotic. When he was interacting with me in that special context he was the most depraved and perverted man I had ever gotten to know. The air of forbiddenness and wickedness turned our meetings into a sublime experience for me. I knew now that the same man who was neatly sitting on his office chair at the head of a business meeting table, dressed in a fine but comfortable suit, talking about ventures and corresponding numbers, was the same man who jerked off to watching me throwing up. I had underestimated him.  
Greatly.

Our first meeting had left such an impact on me that I understood that there was no way of denying me a second one. And a third one. And a fourth one. I had become addicted to it, but I didn't care about that since it served to alleviate that nerve-racking raging pain in my head. I knew that it would not eliminate the cause of these urges, but it would make the symptoms more bearable. And as much as I got from his vibes he was just looking for that too. I had been somewhat shocked the first time I had seen those eyes, the coldness in them, the steely determination to take what he wanted and that monstrous need for power.

I knew that from myself, but seeing that in his eyes had left me puzzled. Just when he finally smacked me with the whip that evening I felt a tight knot in my heart unwinding. The mix of physical, mind-altering pain together with the emotional component of a very profound feeling of humiliation and confinement pierced me to the heart. For a few times, I had reminded myself of being a powerful man, always looking to be in control of things, analyzing and planning and always, the pain of the whiplash reminded me of currently being nothing more than a tied up piece of flesh, unable to move, defend myself or act in any way but screaming and suffering.

The pain reduced me to a man without a past and without a future. It took it all from me and made me exist in just that moment and nothing more. Other people strived to reach that state by meditation. That was just _my_ way of meditating.  
I felt that I was close to needing it again. For as long as I could, I lived on those memories and when I noticed that urge becoming stronger again I tried to prolong another meeting to make that suffering even sweeter.

Eventually, I wrote a few words on a piece of paper and mailed it. Surely, I would not show up at his place again without prior notice; he had been pissed to find me waiting at his door. I knew that if I did that again he'd ignore me, at worst. 

It was the fist time that I got to understand what relationships were about. Without rules, there'd be no freedom either and I _had_ to stick to some of them to keep him. It was simply because we were so different; he had his ways and views, I had mine and in order to find common ground we had leave our standpoints and adopt ways and bits of the other. And this was my sacrifice. I'd accept his requirements and give him some room to move.

The next Saturday, I got dressed and went to the “X Ways”. However, when I wanted to pass the clerk he stopped me and said he had a note for me. It was a simple piece of paper with handwritten instructions.

“I expect you to be sitting at the bar, naked.”

A very special moment.  
It was a moment when I felt so loved that I kept standing there for half a minute, staring into space.  
When I felt ready to deal with the world again I asked the clerk where I could deposit my clothes. He led me to a small room with lockers where I undressed. With every piece of clothing that I doffed my excitement grew and by the time I was naked I was horny already. Before I left the room I put on the collar since I thought that I'd please him with that. As much as I was into defiance in every condition of life; here, I was taking pleasure in pleasing. It was a new experience as well.

Naked, I left the room with some money in my hand and went to the bar area to sit down on a bar stool. I ordered a drink and waited.  
6pm. He was supposed to show up soon; however, I knew him by now and I wouldn't have been surprised if he had left me waiting for an hour before he would finally show up with a sunny smile.

And indeed, 15 past 6 I turned around to look into the direction of the exit. Of course, no one was entering right now, but I couldn't help it. I decided to watch the surroundings meanwhile.  
Yet, after ten minutes I realized that it was a bad idea to do so since all I saw was couples doing things to each other which made me feel my loneliness all the more. I turned around again and looked at the alcohol bottles in front of me.

While I was trying to reread the word “Paralumbui” I felt a hand on my shoulder and I swiftly turned around to greet him.  
A tall man was looking at me, short blond hair, dressed in leather pants and a tacky bondage harness.

“Need some company?”

For a moment, I toyed with the idea of accepting his offer and absconding together with this parody of a pervert just to vex and punish him for his delay. The next moment, I saw myself getting waterboarded and I bent my head at clearly feeling fear accompanying those scenes.  
The third moment, I got to understand that it was _him_ who'd punish _me_ , and never the other way around. _Never._ That was the fate I had agreed on.

“Just fuck off,” I snarled, venting my spleen on him.

“I know who you are.”

“So all the more reason to do what I say,” I snapped back, getting more worked up with every moment I had to spend with that jerk instead of him.

“Aren't you bottom?”

“It is absolutely NONE of your fucking business what I am and ain't, you retarded asshat!”

The man in front of me was smiling and I was losing it.

“And don't gimme that _stupid_ smile,” I spat at him, “You're just one of those guys who will never, NEVER, you stupid jerk, get a bottom to submit to you like-”

Something hard hit my flank and I toppled over and fell from the stool. I was just so lucky that my head hit the metal footrest pipe of the bar and the following words were nothing but a whiff of a low, touching sound ripple.

“Thanks,” he said to the man who grinned at him and left. Then he nudged my shoulder with his shiny business boot.

“I don't approve of you being so rude.”

And that was all. He sat down on my stool and ordered himself a drink as well. Meanwhile, I had tried to get it all together again and by the time his drink was served I pulled myself up from the floor and just then realized that my body had hit more than just that metal pipe. As soon as I was on my feet he grabbed the collar and pulled me closer.  
Very close.

Before our lips touched he stopped and for a moment I could _feel_ him facing the need to kiss me. I was unsure about what to do, torn between fascination and fear, but he deliberately destroyed that moment, narrowed his eyes and smirked.

“Did you really think I would do that,” he whispered gloatingly.

I loved it how he fucked with my feelings. I didn't mind him pushing me through heaven and hell at least once an hour; it was what I came for.  
Yet, his macho attitude challenged my pride and I put down the 'seeking to please' mode and switched to 'defiance at all costs'. 

I smirked and pressed my lips against his and for a moment, there was no defiance. I had rented it completely for myself right now and naturally, there could only be one at a time being defiant. And following that choreography of feeling exchange, he wrenched it from me again, gripped my crotch and squeezed very tightly which made me double over and gasp.

“Don't you forget who's your master,” he hissed into my ear and applied more pressure so that I started whining and squirming. We remained in this position for another few seconds, which should hammer home the message, and then he let go.

“Sit down,” he hissed in the same voice and I knew that I had him where I needed him.  
With my lips pursed from the afterpains of that disciplinary measure and from biting back a smirk, I straightened my back and was about to sit down next to him when he took my arm and made me look at him.  
Cold, sadistic eyes invaded my space. He shook his head and pointed at the floor. I glanced at him again to get another dose of icy coldness, then I dropped my defiant attitude and savoured the humiliation he was gifting me. I sat down on the floor next to his barstool and grabbed my balls to soothe the pain.

Everyone around us could see it and I was sure that there were some who were watching and jerking off to that.  
Sitting in the dirt like a dog, waiting for his owner to do something. As soon as I allowed myself to feel embarrassed my dick woke up and demanded more. Demurely, I looked up at him. Deliberately, I was sitting here and deliberately, I was doing what he told me to. And still, there was something inside me which screamed at that, which kicked and squirmed, something which never could be killed and the thrill I experienced was just coming from these contradictory feelings.

I enjoyed to get broken; over and over again it had to be in order to make me feel whole.  
And he knew that. He knew that like no one else. I saw it in his eyes, this care again. Although they were completely devoid of any empathy I knew that exactly this was his kind of consideration.  
I was facing a serious sentimental breakdown and leaned against the stool to be closer to him. He looked down at me but didn't say anything. When I became aware of being watched I lifted my head and our eyes met. There was a meter of distance between us, but in fact, there was not even a paper fitting in the gap between us.

Silently, he read my mind. I was begging him to hurt me. To use my body as he pleased, to abuse it, to make it bleed, make it sweat and ache. It didn't matter to me whether there'd be scars left; they were just signs of life and thus, they didn't seem ugly to me. I begged him to scar me.

When he had seen enough he asked me about the number of my locker and the corresponding password, then he got up and left. Without needing to tell me, I knew that I were to stay where I was, and so I did. Presumably, he'd undress as well .  
I stared at the black wood in front of me for quite a while, realizing that I truly had become a slave to him. Many thoughts crossed my mind, many images passed by and every single thought was about him. I wasn't worried about that yet.

Just when I had gotten lost in his hair something covered my eyes and mouth. It was warm and the way it adjusted itself to my mouth and eyes made me believe that it was hands, but they were covered with some kind of material which I did not know.  
Gently but teasingly, two fingers slid inside my mouth and pushed down on my tongue. I escaped them and examined them, licked them, closed my mouth to test it with my lips. It was an awesome feeling since it felt hard under the surface and so soft though.

Suddenly, he let go of me and I heard him getting up so I did the same and turned around to look at him. And what I saw threw me.  
A skintight, shiny suit was covering his entire body, from head to toe. It was a deep black, shining brightly where the light was reflected. The mixture of these two features made every body part of his look tasty and luscious. The latex accentuated his body shape and I saw firm muscles which invited me to just bite them. 

Mesmerized, I looked down and found that he was wearing an extra slip with a pre-formed sheath for his dick and balls. Currently, he was just a little hard, but when I tried to imagine how the material would stretch when he'd be fully hard I couldn't keep myself from touching my crotch.  
When I looked up again at his face I smirked. He was wearing a latex mask which resembled his Batman costume with two small pointy ears on his head. Either his sense of humour was catching up with mine finally or he had always been like that but never showed it. His self-mockery and courage were like an aphrodisiac.

It was unbelievable that he was so courageous as to don such a costume when he really was the Bat. To top it all, there was an oval patch of yellow latex just on his chest with a bat symbol on it. When I traced along the black lines of that Bat I got lost in the glossy material again.

“Lick it,” he said, knowing what was going on with me.

Gratefully, I put a hand on his chest and bent my head. Since the latex was thermoconductive, it served to create that extraordinary feeling when I touched his body. When my tongue touched his chest it triggered a chemical explosion in my brain, making my dick twitch in delight. Warm, smooth, firm and slick.  
I teased his nipple while my hand snuck down to grip his dick, but he caught it and wanted to pull it away when I lifted my head and moved close to his ear.

“Please,” I whispered as submissively as possible, “I want to see it hard. It turns me on to think of it ripping me apart.”

With that said, I left him up there and tended to his chest again where I circled his nipple until it was hard. As I bit it I closed my fingers around his dick and massaged it. Playfully, I bit his nipple and squeezed at the same time, which made him clutch my arm.  
I licked his chest up and down, enjoying that wicked feeling until I started moaning. It was like an oral orgasm, licking his body through that fabric.

My sounds seemed to turn him on since within a few moments, he was hard as steel. I stopped then and looked down to get overwhelmed again by that delicious sight. His penis was daringly standing upright, covered in black, glossy liquid. I needed to taste it.  
Swiftly, I got down on my knees and took it in my mouth before he could protest. I didn't care that neither of us was gay; I was beyond any sexual labeling and enjoyed the sensation of that latex cudgel in my mouth. 

Greedily, I sucked it, made it tease my velum until I retched. I couldn't get enough of it. It was pure power.  
The surface was slick from saliva finally and I paused and played around with my lips, squeezing his dick gently and touching it with my tongue. Slowly, I lifted my hands and cupped his balls while I kept sucking him. That unexpected contact made him jerk and I closed my eyes in delight and smiled around his glans. 

Encouraged by his silence and lack of protest, I gripped his dick and pumped while I kept sucking and fingering his balls. It turned me on so much that I started moaning through my nose and just a few moments later he joined me in that lovesong.  
His moans were low and full of need which stirred my blood and I sucked harder until his moans became louder as well.

When I couldn't withstand anymore, I let go of his balls and grabbed my own dick to jerk off to that wicked spectacle. However, after a few pumps he suddenly took a step back and kicked my chest so that I fell backwards. When I looked up I found him panting and confused.

Sometimes, I wasn't sure about what he was thinking. Sometimes, I could do something which turned him on and the next moment he'd push me away. His expression could change from enjoyment to confusion within a second and it confused me as well.  
He was afraid.  
With good reason. I had tested him, trying to find out how far he was willing to go yet. On purpose, I had kept it purely sexual without any of those practices, curious as to whether he was ready for that yet.

And he wasn't. Showing me that so openly was a mistake since I was going to use that against him. I gave him a very sardonic grin and earned me a kick into my face.

“Get the fuck up!” he shouted at me and made some guests look at us.

I licked my lips and tasted blood. Standing another eruption of pleasure in my crotch, I closed my eyes and savoured the moment. Whenever there was blood I was in heaven.  
Another kick into my flank told me that he was impatient so I got out of that state and up to follow him.  
As we passed people I watched several of them glancing at his dick. Everyone could see how hard he was. He could be such a macho. But I could relate to that kind of behaviour.  
If you've got it, flaunt it.

Just when we were about to leave the room that poor creature which had tried to hit on me before approached us and it wasn't smiling.

“That's irresponsible,” he started off, “It is by far the worst violation of our rules I've witnessed here.”

My man stood in front of me, facing that boresome fart in silence. I was sick of him already and appeared by his side to take care of this.

“It's neither sane nor consensual what you have just done and--”

“And what of that is your business?” I spoke out against him.

He glanced at me and his look changed from anger to admiration.

“I'd treat you better; this is no way to treat a bottom, it's just-”

“What do _you_ know about how to treat a slave? You're still wet behind your ears, you little spooney. Get out of my sight!” I shouted at him.

The poor idiot in front of me was perplexed and I used that chance to grab my top's arm and drag him along, away from the scene. When I wanted to ask the clerk for a room he took my arm and pulled me upstairs, mumbling that he already had one. He unlocked a yellow door, opened it and asked me to enter. I did so and turned around, waiting for further instructions. He closed the door behind him and then looked at me.  
For too long. Slightly confused, I glanced at his dick. It was limp.

“What's wrong?”

“Maybe he's right.” 

What I heard affected my dick as well. Overwhelming doubt was in his voice together with shame and guilt. He seemed so vulnerable all of a sudden that I forgot my role.

“About what.”

“It's sick what I'm doing.”

I scrutinized him. He had leaned against the door, staring back at me. He knew that I would not agree with him and I wasn't sure what exactly he was asking from me right now. Maybe he was just having a moment, so I decided to stay where I was.  
In the distance.

“Have I ever complained?”

He looked into my eyes and I realized that it would be hard work to get him out of that mood again. I prepared for a long philosophical, ethical and moral discussion. And I wasn't exactly good at that.

“No, and that worries me,” he finally said.

It hit me like a hammer when I understood where he was coming from.  
I had little hope that I could argue it out with him since I knew that he was right. Discussing the specifics of details wouldn't help either. But that didn't keep me from trying. 

“Look, where's the problem if you enjoy it and I enjoy it?”

Once I had warmed up I could be a most reasonable discussion partner who could use empathy and imagination, but very few people were worth it.

“The problem is that it's sick.”

“Sick. What do _you_ consider sick? Two guys meeting to have fun?”

I couldn't withstand the temptation to tease him. Maybe he'd forget it all if he turned mad and lashed into me as usual.

“Two guys meeting to make each other bleed. You and me, we are ill. And I don't want to push it. I don't want to encourage you to continue.”

“And you just realized that? After you've crushed my balls and electrocuted my ass?”

“At that time, I thought it was a good idea.”

“And now you've changed your mind. But you forget that it's about the two of us. I am responsible for _myself_.”

“I am responsible for you too now.”

“You are not,” I hissed.

I was getting worked up; his beliefs were comprehensible, but I felt otherwise. Emotions overwhelmed me and I made a few steps towards him.  
Anger that he put his beliefs before mine.  
Fear that he would take from me what I had gained.  
Desperation because I understood very well what he was talking about.

Fear took over.

“Do you think I don't know what I'm doing?!” I yelled at him.

It was obvious that he needed more space than I currently granted him and he pressed his back against the wall, clenching his teeth.

“Is it wrong to get high on the adrenaline when you whip me? Is it wrong to be free of worries, fear, doubt, memories when I get reduced to a suffering subject which experiences nothing but the absoluteness of the moment?”

With every word I said he felt more troubled and I could watch his emotional chaos growing.  
As much as he was struggling and tried to reason it all down, that drive was just unkillable. Often, I had been in that situation, finding myself to be my worst enemy when mind and soul were travelling opposite directions and eventually, that ended with a compromise. Maybe I could achieve a compromise here as well, but he needed more for that.

“This agony which creeps into my mind,” I admitted, hoping that he would appreciate my honesty and finally understand how much this mattered to me, how important it was and that I would fight for it.

“Is it wrong if I can sleep soundly for a while again after we've met?”

“There's a word for it: Escapism,” he stated dryly.

He was losing. And he felt it.  
And he didn't know that he had just given me the opportunity to knock him down.

“Really?” I said, suddenly able to grin. I slammed my hand against the wall next to his face and moved even closer. If he was vulnerable I'd break through that thin shell and trouble his heart.

“And you think that a bad thing? You say it like it was a bad thing for you. Truth is, we need that shit.”

I moved closer to whisper into his ear, trying to make that situation as intense as possible.

“In order to survive.”

I stayed where I was; close to his ear. He, however, bent his head. My mood changed and I was confident that I would manage to enter his mind through that tiny hole and twist it.

“What do you do, night by night? You are Bruce Wayne, one of the richest jerks of Gotham and what do you do? You dress like a bat and hunt bad people. What's real? Your day-bright business life as a handsome suitman or your nightlife in carbon fibre armour?”

I felt that I had him.  
More than being an empathic listener I enjoyed being a manipulative hedonist. I needed him for my psychic balance. That was the way I was taking care of myself.

“I bet you can't even tell the 'escapist' measures from reality anymore. And though, you are still here. And you are still here because you do what you do. We _need_ it. You can't deny it.”

When I had finished my speech he turned his face to look at me and I drew back so he could see my eyes. Suddenly, he didn't need more distance anymore.  
Steady eyes looked at me; I could see the algorithm at work. I would have to be careful now and give him the time to come to a decision. His eyes wandered off to stare into space. He was completely self-absorbed and I felt that I should leave him alone so I took a few steps back, but that was not enough. After another glance at him I mumbled that I'd be downstairs, passed him and put my hand on the door handle to show him that I wanted to open it. He took a step to the side and I opened the door.

For a moment, I hesitated, fear spreading in my mind again, but I shoved it aside and left the room. Yet, as soon as a few meters were between me and that door I stopped and leaned against a wall, realizing what I had done.  
I had presented him the chance to drop out.  
And I could not withdraw that offer. One month ago, he had done the same to me.  
_Leave if you don't agree on it._  
His words rang in my ears.

Nervously, I turned around and glanced at the door to see if he was on the way already, but the door was closed.  
I didn't want to lose him. It wasn't just because we seemed to be the perfect match as far as our needs were concerned; it was also because the chemistry was right. I was so used to him, his way of talking and behaving that often, I knew what he was feeling without him saying anything. It made things much easier.

With a heavy heart, I went downstairs and went to the bar to get me a big drink. Just when I was about to place my naked ass on the bar stool I got reprimanded.

“Sorry, not if you're naked.” 

“Oh come on!” I complained, frowning at the barkeeper.

“Put your faggy booty on this chair and I'll make sure they'll throw you out. And I'm sure master will not approve of that.”

“Are you treating every guest like that?!” I yelled at him, infuriated at that insult.

“No. Just those who deserve it,” he grinned and touched his throat.

“Fuck you,” I hissed, low but loud enough for him to hear it.

I grabbed my drink and went to the end of the bar counter where I casually leaned against it and sipped my drink. After a while of watching the bartender asshole I fixed my gaze on the shiny surface of the bar counter.  
Soon, I started running my fingers through my hair.  
It didn't happen to me very often but when it did I knew that I was either hacked off or right on the way to turning into a wreck. Any attempt at distraction failed so I downed the drink in order to push my brain down the abyss of ignorace.

In the middle of those party people, I felt so lonely.  
Being faced with the possibility that he might just come down the stairs and leave the premises behind my back forced me to fix my eyes on the exit of the room since I could see the stairs from here. After a few minutes I averted my gaze since I had realized that it wouldn't change anything if I watched him leaving like that.

I jerked when I felt a hand on my ass. Filled with utmost joy, I turned around and all that joy turned into black bile at the sight of the jerk who had tried to kiss my ass for two times already.

“I've been watching you; what happened? Has he hurt you?” he said with honest concern.

I took a deep breath and pinched the brick of my nose. After our last encounter I had sworn to myself that I'd kill that would-be top if he ever wasted just a second of my life again.  
And now he had touched me. Slowly, I began to understand that I was just considered fair game if I showed up here all alone.  
My fear turned into anger.

“Tell me one thing,” I said, concentrating on not tearing the carotid out of his neck with my teeth, “Why exactly do you hang out here?”

“Isn't that obvious? I'm looking for a partner. And I know you-”

“Dear,” I said, smiling sardonically and straightened my back to intimidate him, “Do you think you can hold a candle to me? I've done things worse than your perviest, dirtiest dreams, you adorable little fuck. So if you are not ready to make me eat your shit you can just sod off, will yer.”

Part of that was a lie and a wish at the same time, but he didn't know about that. I gave him the obligatory four seconds to understand what I was talking about, then I ordered another drink. Wordlessly, he left.

“You know that you just attract those kind of jerks, pitifuck as you are,” the bartender butted in again.

Apparently, he didn't really like me.

“You don't like me, do you,” I asked him, smiling innocently.

“It's not my job to like you,” he replied coldly, handing over the drink.

I kept watching him when he turned to polish glasses.  
Sourness, disgust and sorrow hidden behind a poker face.

“You don't just hate me, you hate everyone around here, don't you?” I started off, having found the perfect subject for my distraction and for venting my anger.

He stopped and looked at me. It was a look which showed me that I had hit the nail right on the head. He put down the glass and the towel and took a few steps towards me. That look in his eyes, it stirred my passion, it was that look which I knew and which fuelled my persistently blazing fire. Calm outside, exploding inside, he put his hands on the counter and leaned towards me to be closer to me. With every centimeter he moved closer my smirk grew.

_Eat me, hit me, choke me, kill me._

“You're just a bunch of sickheads who try to fix their fucked up lives by pretending to bond with that special someone who just gives as much fuck about you as you give about them. You mask your souls with perversion, depravity and sexual excesses, you're _addicted_ to it and claim that anyone else who doesn't get it is just a poor prude. It never occurs to you that what you are doing is just sick because you are so busy satisfying your pathological needs. You're all the same. I know you.”

By the time he had finished his hate speech I was frowning. Smack my ass and call me Sally if that man had not suffered from a harsh breakup with one of his depraved guests or even his bartender workmate, considering the frequency of his homophobic insults. 

“You don't,” I replied calmly, “And that's perfectly fine. Sorry if there's no one there to fill that screaming shit hole of yours with his winky. Just make sure to have a regular wank cause otherwise, it will run to fat and you won't get it up anymore. And don't you dare call your boss because your speech was so supreme that I memorized every fucking word of it, you poor prude.”

I took my drink and left him standing there. Seething with rage, I looked for an empty corner to snuggle up to it. With the drink in my hand, I watched the guests, killing each of them in a different way in my mind. If someone dared to approach me now I'd slit his throat with my pinky. But no one came closer; they felt that it was better to give me a wide berth.  
What was taking him so long?

I couldn't tell whether it was a good or bad thing that it took so long. If he jilted me I wouldn't know whom to turn to. I had no idea and I was sure that I couldn't survive on my own in this milieu yet without getting seriously hurt. With every minute I spent waiting I got more desperate. By now, I had emptied my drink and I just went to place the glass on a table, had a piss and went back to my corner and crossed my arms. I had expected him to be sitting at the bar already, but there was no sign of him anywhere.

Still in limbo, I looked down at the floor. I had noticed that he was having difficulties letting go of those kind of thoughts which usually served to make him do the right things. Consideration, empathy and selflessness were the tools he used for making decisions. However, this situation demanded the contrary; _I_ demanded the contrary from him. I wasn't sure whether he was strong enough to pull that through.

Dreaded pessimism took over and I sank down to sit on the floor. I felt lost. And left. The more time passed, the less hope I had for ever meeting him again in this context.  
Never before had I wished to see someone so badly.  
Within a few months, he had changed my life. If someone had told me that soon, I'd be craving the presence of another man, I'd have burst with laughter, saying that rather the world would implode before I'd get so low as to yearn after someone.  
The laughter stuck in my throat now.

I closed my eyes and waited.

___________________


	4. Ecstasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lesson 4: Be careful what you wish for because you just might get it.  
> (Joker's POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Visual impressions n°2: Sounding  
> https://www.deviantart.com/triyune/art/sounding-838782289?ga_submit_new=10%3A1587497684

** Ecstasy **

As I sat on the floor, waiting, my mood changed suddenly and I felt angry. My pride was hurt and I was asking myself why I was putting up with this shit at all. The entire situation seemed so unreal all of a sudden that I questioned everything I had experienced the last few months. I should have just gotten up and left, leaving him to himself.  
And then what?

I'd go home, get sloshed and by dawn, I'd rise from the puddle of blood to take care of the wounds. It was pointless. I knew that I'd regret having left.  
Desperately angry, I slammed my head against the wall and tried to calm down, concentrating on the dull pain in the back of my head. Even if I didn't like it but I had to admit that I needed him; since the first time he had raised his hand against me I had been under his spell. That indisputable fact angered and pleased me at the same time.

When I decided to check for him again and thus lifted my head he was just heading for me, naked. My mind went blank at that sight. Warmth spread on my cheeks and I was too flustered than to do anything or make a witty comment. Although he had ditched the Batman costume he was still wearing his Batman expression of blank austerity. I was a bit worried. He stopped a meter in front of me and I got up in silence, eagerly awaiting his response.

“We're not going to play tonight,” he said in a firm voice.

While my mind sorted out the words my body understood their meaning much sooner and made me shudder. Absent-mindedly, I ran my fingers through my hair.

“What does that mean?” I asked feebly.

“It means that you're going home now.”

For another moment, I stared at him, dumbfounded, then I relapsed into anger and I gritted my teeth.

“And what am I supposed to do?! What do you think, telling me that?! I've been waiting for this for a month, I've even gone without jacking off just to be all worked-up for this shit!!!”

People were looking at us, but I didn't give a damn. Even among those social misfits, we were the weirdos. Breathing hard, I bit down on my tongue, realizing that I had revealed something I would not have given away so readily under normal circumstances at all. Nervously, I cast my eyes down again and looked at his feet.

With him, some things suddenly turned into super embarrassing matters. I'd have climbed the highest monument in Gotham to tell them through a megaphone that I was yanking the plank on a daily basis, sometimes even twice, just to shock them. But in front of him, I was feeling like a young man who was just exploring his sexuality. And indeed, I was doing just that. I felt so lost again, like the entire world had turned its back on me.  
I gulped back my tears and clenched my teeth. Unrelenting eyes were fixed on me.

“I need you,” I hissed, expressing my utter despair.

“I know,” he replied calmly.

I scrutinized him, trying to make sense of it all until he finally helped me.

“You have gone without masturbation?” he asked, his features relaxing.

Embarrassment reared its ugly head again and I fell into chaos. Helplessly, I looked at him, my mind aching, longing for him to beat the shit out of me. Sometimes, dealing with him only made things worse and the more time I spent in his presence then the more desperately I craved his raw, impersonal violence.

“We should take care of that, shouldn't we,” he said with the ghost of a smile, delivering me from hell.

That made me look up again. His expression was different; friendlier and more welcoming. I leaned back against the wall and savoured the feeling of lightness. He was fucking with my mind, but I didn't care; that was what I had come for. I even thought it possible that he had already made a decision when I had gone downstairs and that he had kept me waiting on purpose since he enjoyed keeping me waiting.

It would have been a pity had he decided to stop it all. We were a perfect match. The relief was as intense as my worries had been and so I felt my eyes getting wet. It was shocking how much that mattered to me and how desperate I had gotten at the thought of losing it.  
Him.

Suddenly, I found his fingers invading my mouth. They weren't covered with latex anymore; it was just his warm, smooth skin. He pressed my tongue down and traced along it until he touched the velum and I had to gag. That violent act revived my spirits and I felt a pleasure pang in my guts. How I had missed that.  
A fascinated smile told me that he was just enjoying it as much as I. He removed them, gave me a smirk and turned around, heading for the stairs.

Silently, I followed him, watching his back moving up and down in front of me. There had been something in his words which had kept my mind busy until now. I couldn't quite name it, but it was a strange feeling. I tried to shake it off as I entered the room, but he did something even stranger then. As he passed me he touched my shoulder with his hand. Usually, I would have identified that action as an attempt to establish closeness, but in this case, I had difficulties accepting it as such. A little confused, I watched him sitting down on the bed, spreading his legs and exposing his dick to me. I would have been surprised if it had not been at least semi-hard. Back to business.

“On your knees,” he commanded me, pointing at some spot in front of him.

Immediately, that confusion dwindled and made way for submissiveness and I did as he told me.

“Suck me off.”

“Now already?”

I was sceptical that he really wanted me to do just that since I had tried to make him come by doing so earlier and he had shown me that he didn't approve of it.  
I watched him reaching out. The next thing I became aware of was me lying on the floor with an aching cheek. I adored him for his uncompromising brutality. The difference between his worrying, caring part and his other part which lacked self-control and mercy was so big that one would have thought it was two different people. But he was a pro at keeping more than one identity and scheme. And now, with me, he had just discovered another one.

Silently, I got back into position and took his dick in my hand. A brownish glans begged to be taken care of. It was true that I had sucked his dick just an hour ago, but it had been covered with latex. Still, there were those feelings of disgust but not intense enough as to keep me from what he wanted me to do. I wasn’t used to serving men, hell, I wasn’t used to serving _anyone_ , but I didn’t consider myself gay. Anyone watching me getting hard at seeing his hard-on would have laughed at me for saying that, but I didn’t find men attractive per se.

“I said ‘suck it’, not ‘look at it’, you piece of shit.”

I felt my dick twitching at his words; every humiliation went straight down to my crotch to tease it. In that respect, it was especially humiliating for me as a straight man to take his genital into my mouth. It was a titillating mix of disgusting and kinky. And it was a kind of intimacy, a physical closeness which made me feel totally insecure.  
Who else should understand that.

“Sorry,” I said, hoping that that little word coming from me would boost his ego.

I closed my lips around his tip. He refrained from moaning but kept watching me as I tried to make it grow. Either he was not in the mood for it or I did something wrong since it wouldn’t quite harden. It made me question my success and I wasn't sure whether I had been able to remove all of his doubts.  
But he showed me otherwise.

“Use your hand, cocksucker.”

Glad that he was still, or again the same, I added those moves and finally, it responded. Half a minute later, it filled up my mouth and the real labour began. Like a good boy, I tried to get as much of it into my mouth as possible, but who was I trying to fool there; I knew like any other man that it could never be deep enough. And he showed me that I was right this time.  
He put his hand on the back of my head and pushed me further down every time I was moving closer to him. At first, I tried to buck like I always did when being faced with a decision I didn’t approve of but soon, that moment came which was like salvation to me. I broke.

I was a pighead who did what he pleased. Barely anyone offered me resistance, even less the kind of resistance I needed. So when he managed to dominate and I had no choice but to give in it was like something inside me snapped and I was able to abandon and even devote myself to him.  
Gagging, I tried to get away from him, but he relentlessly pressed my head down until I had tears in my eyes. He seemed to enjoy that to the fullest and that motivated me to stand it. I was ready to stand anything and everything in this state.

Eventually, he pushed me away and I fell back. Confused, I looked at his dick which was as hard as a rock. Silently asking him why he had not come, I stared at him until he grabbed his dick himself and started pumping. That sight aroused me.  
His gaze was fixed on me and he started panting, finally, as he was jerking off to my sight. I remained on the floor since I thought that he’d like to have me exactly like this, down in the dirt.

Shamelessly, he moaned and I shifted my weight, getting carried away with him, feeling myself growing hard at watching him masturbating. I knew that if I had dared to put just a finger on my dick now he’d have kicked me out of the room. When we played he was such an authority that I knew very well what to expect if I did not comply. Most of the time, at least.  
Greedily, I watched his hand sliding up and down his iron bar, moving a little closer to get some of that heat. That sight was just universally sexy.

When he was about to reach his climax his moans intensified. I loved it when he let go like that; when he forgot who he was and who I was and when nothing else mattered but this moment. I had also witnessed him throwing a tantrum and the rawness and honesty of his personality shone through his acts of violence then. As much as he hurt me at those times, I found that most compelling. He was beyond moral codes, reasonable restraints and empathy and watching him lapsing into that state was a special thrill to me. It was true that I had provoked him many times, but it had just been to see that commotion in his eyes, to feel his temper and to get crushed by it. I needed to get crushed by it.

With a loud scream he came, ejaculating on me. I closed my eyes as I felt semen hitting my face. For a moment, I felt like I was the only man in this world, alone, isolated and sanctified.  
When I opened them again I just saw him leaning back, panting. I lifted my hand to touch his semen but out of nowhere, I heard a whisper.

“Don’t.”

I bit down on my lip and thought about what else to do when he sat up, still breathing heavily. His expression had changed; while some of that anger was gone I still could see enough in his eyes to look forward to a night full of degrading pleasures.  
He got up and walked towards me. I watched his limp dick swinging from one side to the other while he came closer and while I thought that he would pass me, right or left, he did none of that but bluntly ran me down. He spread his legs and smacked his dick against my face, made it slide over my mouth, up my nose and forehead until he was gone. Now his cum was smeared all over my face.

It was the most disrespectful action I had ever experienced.  
As if I had not been there.  
Struck with awe, I kept sitting on the floor, feeling my dick growing. Whenever I had had doubts as for him being the right one for this kind of thing, it was just such games which convinced me of him being the best top I could’ve met. He respected me, was not ashamed of me and treated me just like a normal man and then again, he had such sublime ways of limiting my freedom, restraining me and taking care of my need for utter destruction. Every time he did something like that my hard shell cracked and spilled the warm, liquid core. And I needed my shell getting broken, I was craving for that. He took that soft core and caressed it, he did not tread on it. There was such a great extent of care in his violence that I got sentimental about him when I thought of that.

And then again, it seemed like every time we met, he was getting rougher and more ruthless. The distance we were establishing was like a kink to me. At one point, we'd just be two men eating each other up.

My arms were pulled behind my back and fastened by handcuffs; those with the raw scratchy leather. Sadistic asshole.  
He knelt down in front of me and started pumping my dick while dark eyes glared at me. Immediately, I gave in and started panting; I really needed that now. And just a few pumps and I was ready to come. When my dick leaked pre-cum he suddenly stopped and got up.

“What?!” I shouted, annoyed at the disruption. I was panting hard and I would have needed just a few more strokes to come. But I didn't have the time to complain; he kicked my back and I fell on my face. Before I could react he kicked my side so I was lying on my back now, my arms uncomfortably tucked under me and my dick resting flat on my belly.  
He seemed to exceptionally enjoy kicking me around. Luckily, I enjoyed being kicked around too.

He knelt down next to me and touched me again. I exhaled, closed my eyes and leaned back, happy that we would continue now, but when I felt something cold I lifted my head. The smell told me that he was disinfecting my dick. Since I had no idea what he was up to I chose to wait and see.  
After some moments, I felt cold liquid.  
Inside my dick.

I lifted my head to see what he had done, but I could not find out what had caused that strange sensation. Only when he picked up a long, thin metal wand I frowned. I could not combine that in any possible way so I kept silence and watched him. My stomach muscles ached by now, but my curiosity was more pressing.  
When he touched the tip of my dick with the wand I tried to sit up because it made me feel a little nervous.

“What’s that,” I asked.

He looked at me, smirking, showing me that he knew so much more about this all than I did.

“It’s a dilator.”

“A what?”

“You stick it in your urethra.”

“You...what?”

Unable to understand and unwilling to believe it, I stared at him. When he placed it on my tip again I squirmed, trying to get away from him.

“You’re such a coward.”

He could call me a son of a bitch, a retarded freak, an imbecile nutbag, a disgusting filthy pig and an idiot, but I could not condone him calling me that.

“Fuck you,” I hissed and lay down again.

“Bring it on, you macho asshole.”

Which he did. I lifted my head a bit though to watch it.  
While he held my dick in place he carefully aimed at the orifice and let it slide in. As a centimetre of that piece disappeared in my body I waited for the pain, but there was none.  
Another centimetre.

“So?”

I could not speak.  
Mesmerized, I watched that wand disappearing in my dick while feeling a special kind of warmth growing there. It felt so full. Filled where I thought I could not be filled. Pleasurably full.

“More,” I whispered, excited, wishing for him to bury that wand completely in my dick.

He had to apply some pressure now since it would not slide in on its own anymore. My dick was hard and I could feel it pressing against the metal. Moaning, I lay down again and concentrated on that feeling.  
When I felt something close to pain I jerked and sat up. He looked at me innocently. When I searched for the source of that feeling I found out that he was just about to make one of those pearls disappear in my urethra. It had a slightly larger diameter.

I trusted him to do it right and to decide whether I was suited for that or not. If he decided that it was too large then I wouldn’t object. If he decided that it had to go into my dick, someway, somehow, I’d consent to it too.

“Continue,” I said to assure him of my well-being, then I curled up so that I could keep my dick in sight without constantly tensing up my muscles.

The pearl disappeared in my glans and I stretched my neck in bliss. Pain was so close to pleasure.  
It didn’t take long and I had to open my eyes again to see that my dick had swallowed the dilator up to the end which consisted of a big metal ball with a ring through it. He squeezed it, tentatively, and just the sight of that almost made me come. Yet, when he started moving the dilator around I couldn’t hold back anymore.

“I’m gonna come,” I panted, pressing my legs together and squinting my eyes to distract myself from that all-consuming feeling. It was hard for me to resist the thrill of it; the fact that it was something pervy, unusual and dirty almost turned me on more than those pearls rubbing against my urethra. No, it was hard to tell what turned me on more.  
Bruce Wayne was fucking my insides with a metal wand. That was too much.

His fingers closed around my tip and I tensed up and came.  
Or I tried to.  
When he noticed that I could not hold back anymore he swiftly pushed the sound back in and sealed the urethra with the large ending. As he pressed the steel ball against the urinary meatus I interjaculated. I choked on the scream and with wide eyes I watched my dick contracting, spellbound.

When the mindkilling feeling slowly faded I was finally able to gasp for air. The man next to me was grinning from ear to ear, knowing that from now on, those dilators had to be part of the standard inventory of sessions.  
I needed some time to kick myself into a communicable state and when I thought that I could finally tell him how fucking awesome that had been it was just an uncoordinated gasp which left my mouth.

Meanwhile, my dick had assumed its usual shape again and exposed half of the dilator. Carefully, he pulled it out and wiped it clean, then he got up and put it into the bin next to the door. I stayed on the floor where he joined me again. I was still more or less out of my mind, staring at him in a very dumb way. He seemed to be pleased that he had been able to show me something new and equally pleasing at the same time.

“What is your favourite toy?” he asked out of the blue then, smiling at me.

High expectations.

“Does it matter?” I asked with a smile, slightly surprised about that question. I didn't think that I had to be asked.

“It matters to me.”

I took a deep breath and stared at him. The persistence in his look made me get up and go to the cupboard with the toys and tools to search for something. In fact, there were many things I found interesting and the usage of some was an utter mystery to me, but I kept looking for what I had thought of. When I had found something similar I went back to him and presented it on my flat hand.

When he saw it his look changed. I couldn't tell what exactly he was thinking, but he had not expected to see _that_.  
Eventually, he glanced at me and back at my hand with the thing again. Patiently, I waited for him to accept it. After all, he had asked me about it. While he kept looking at it I watched his eyes closely. He wasn't sure whether he should accept it.

_I want you to use it. I need you to use it._

“Please,” I whispered.

Calmly, he took it from my hand. It was a stainless steel scalpel.  
He rubbed his eyes and I knew that I had thrown his mind into turmoil yet again. A razor-sharp blade. It was obvious what I expected him to do with that.  
When he was done evaluating his concerns he got up and told me to sit down on the examination couch. It was covered with protective plastic foil which could be removed after use and which felt strange on my skin.

As soon as I had put my ass on it he took my arms and wrapped some kind of tape around my wrists. I knew that removing it would hurt like hell.  
He pushed me down, put my legs on the couch and tied them up as well, then he turned around and left the room.

If I had not just come I would have gotten hard again. With every second I lay there, waiting to be taken care of, I got more excited. He had turned waiting into an art.  
When I heard the door being opened again I lifted my head. He was carrying something in his hand, but I could not see what it was.

“Sit up.”

I sat up and he went behind me. Just when he disinfected the crook of my arm I lost my cool and tried to turn my head to catch a glimpse of what he was planning to do, but it was too late. The tip of the syringe had already pricked my vein. As soon as I felt it leaving my body I squirmed, trying to free my arms, panicking. However, I was pulled backwards and in the middle of this fall I lost it.

When my back hit the surface my body broke through it and I fell. Desperately, my eyes searched for a safe spot to stare at, but it was impossible since every tiniest spot turned out to be filled with such detail that it confounded me. He didn't give me much time to get used to that weird state since he put the syringe away and took the scalpel.

“YOu dOn'd MinD ScarSS, dO yOU?”

I suffered from an extrasystole and the time from the last heartbeat to the relieving next one turned into minutes. Completely out of my mind, I lay there, unable to close my mouth or just blink. Pressure was building up in my veins and I feared that my heart would burst. But just before it did exactly that, it resumed work and gave me the saving beat.  
A mostly uncoordinated contraction of my vocal chords followed and resulted in something like a “caach”.

“I knEW yOu wOUln.”

His O's were piercing me; I could hardly stand them.  
A ton landed on my chest. In fact, it was just his hand, but I swore that it weighed a ton.  
What he did then would remain in my memory for the rest of my life.

The tip of the scalpel entered my body under my left chest muscle, just under the nipple. With mind-boggling slowness, he cut me; moving it from the centre of my body towards my flank, slashing my skin. He made it cut deep.  
Slowly.

After the first centimetre of torn skin I managed to gasp. The pain was excruciating. It wasn't like I wasn't used to cutting myself or getting hurt with a knife, no. It was twenty times worse. The drug intensified everything to the point it was unbearable, but I was not aware of that. I couldn't be. All of my mental capacities were used to keep my body alive.  
The sensations the cutting of my skin caused were indescribable. Coldness crept into my body through that tiny slit and at the same time, it felt like my entire ribcage was on fire.  
Acid was eating its way through my flesh, blood vessels and rib. The skin around that cut liquefied and ran down my chest. It left a burning trail on my skin.

After the second centimetre I caught my breath and felt my heart revolting at that. Pressure built up in my body again, everywhere, and my heart was about to implode when I was finally able to gasp for air.

After the third and last centimetre I groaned with pain, my eyes staring into a dark and empty kind of space. My heart was beating so fast that I became giddy. I felt paralysed and at the same time such a kind of horrible tension that I didn't know what to do.

The scalpel dug through my skin again under the first cut and I squinted my eyes, gasping for breath. I feared that my system would perhaps give in and shut down. Never before had I felt such an intense kind of racking pain, so distracting, so agonizing that everything else faded into the background, if there was any background at all. I was nothing but a trembling bundle of horribly aching flesh, desperately clinging to one thought.

_Make it stop._

The second cut was done, finally, and I hissed, feeling all my blood going to these two openings and leaving me through them.  
The blade touched my skin again and I gave up. Breathing hard, I waited for him to continue since I knew that any kind of resistance was utterly pointless and I let go of that one thought as well. Yet again, he had managed to make me surrender.

When the blade opened my body for the third time, this time a little faster, I held my breath and concentrated on existing. It felt like he was ripping my ribcage apart, searing pain spreading from this spot and paralysing my lungs. I could not breathe anymore.  
After the blade had left my skin again it took me some more moments of contemplation before I was able to inhale deeply again.

Wordlessly, he left me on the couch and I only noticed him leaving because some light blurry spot of colour flew from one side to the other. He returned and I asked myself whether he had been away at all. He had had to be away when he was returning now. Probably, he had been away.  
The pain infected my thoughts and I found myself tumbling into a mix of black moving mass, a bitter taste in the back of my mouth, a ringing in my ears and a feeling like my body was turning into butter and melting.

The next moment, I was lying on that couch again. Without doubt, it was me, but I couldn't be too sure about that right now. My mind separated itself from my body in a very violent way when he touched me again.  
He was rubbing salt into the cuts.  
A new kind of panic seized me and I writhed with pain, finally able to move again. I frantically pulled at the tape and almost dislocated my shoulder until he pressed my body down and kept me from further damage.

I could have told him to stop, but I had learned that there was no way to argue with him at such times. He knew best. He turned his attention to the cuts again and rubbed the salt in. It made me catch my breath. From the corner of my eye I saw him holding his dick.  
I wouldn't scream. I wouldn't give him that satisfaction, as much as he'd try, he'd have to make me faint before I would start screaming. My breath was already coming in fits and I wouldn't have been able to scream anyway.

My head burst and spilled the liquid. How I could keep breathing and swallowing I didn't know when my brain was spread on that gross plastic foil. I stretched my neck and choked on my spittle which made me contract some muscles to cough.  
The wrong kind of muscles.  
The skin across my chest tore and a piercing pain constricted my chest. When I had finally gotten rid of the liquid in my windpipe I lay down again, exhausted beyond limits.  
His face showed up above mine. I could barely see it.

“One mOre”

A sharp smell crept up my nose.  
Shit.

Alcohol hit my skin and I cried out in pain, ditching my resolutions. It was impossible to hold back, worse than before. I was screaming my lungs out, convulsing and squirming until he pressed his hand against my mouth and I kept screaming, however, now somewhat silenced.  
While my ribcage was dissolving his hand on my lips helped me to stand it. My flesh dried up within seconds and I desperately gasped for air through my nose. Eventually, I even managed to stop screaming and he waited a little more, then he removed his hand.

I was out of breath, feeling sick, my head aching, my lungs burning, my mind in pieces and my flesh crawling. Muscles were convulsing and twitching uncontrollably from the pain which was still torturing me. I was a complete mess.  
A white pearl fell from his finger, down into my gaping bleeding abyss.  
Cum.

His fingers lay down on my cheek and I gasped, his touch causing a sensory overload. Wide-eyed, I stared at the ceiling while I tried to understand what was happening. However, my attempts were defeated the very moment he touched the tip of my dick. Gasping, I arched up into the air, my vision turning black. Like bolts of lighting, pleasure flashed through my body in a way I had never experienced it before.

His lips touched my cheek and he squeezed. My mouth opened for a silent scream, I turned to the side and curled up, the intensity of pleasure almost turning the sensation into pain. Gently, he caressed my skin, moved his fingers down my face and let them rest on my nipple. His touch felt like acid and liquid sugar at the same time, leaving a burning trail of highly irritated skin behind. Every moment was pure torture.

When I opened my eyes again, having somewhat recovered from the first shock, I saw that my dick was hard, yet, tamed by a cock ring. I had not noticed him putting it on.  
The hard fact that some totally and definitely sick part of my brain had decided to find that immeasurably painful procedure highly arousing confused me to pieces.  
He licked my cheek and I writhed and moaned. Like a huge slug, it was crawling over my face, touching me through that layer of skin, tickling my mind and dismantling it.

Suddenly, it disappeared and instead, his face appeared again. I stared at him wide-eyed. His hair was flowing, and then again, it wasn't. I knew that it couldn't, but that didn't keep it from maintaining that optical illusion. Confused, I searched for his eyes to make mine rest in them, but I found no rest.

“Three cuts for three rules”

Shapeless words floated through my head. At least, the O's were gone.

“First,” he said and paused. He squeezed my dick again and made me scream with pleasure. Every time he did that it got worse, claiming more and more of my body, filling it with tension and a kind pf pain which was new to me.

“Do you listen?”

I swallowed hard and blinked, trying to force as many cooperative and attentive braincells as possible to analyze that inquiry. He let go of my dick and I sighed; the stream of disconcerting pleasure abruptly drying up.

“Yeah,” I managed to pronounce.

“First, you can keep all your shady businesses, companies, clubs, brothels, I don't care. However, if you choose to terrorize the people of Gotham or any other town ever again I'll cut that out of your flesh. Again, I don't care if you have a rumpus with the Mob, rivalrous pimps or whatever, but if you blow up a bank or scare little Molly to death I'll rip it out of your body,” he hissed into my ear, the words being so sharp that they pierced my brain.

“Second,” he continued but stopped to pinch my nipple which made me hiss since it felt like he was pinching me with searing hot pliers. The pain resided when he let go and I started panting again, feeling myself being pushed to the limits. Over and over again.

“Second, you don't cheat on me. You won't serve anyone else anymore but me. And cheating also means jerking off on your own. You will ask for permission next time you think you have to do that. And third-”

He hesitated.

“Not now. Repeat what I said,” he commanded and climbed the couch.

I needed a few moments to understand what he wanted from me, but he seized the chance and bent down to bring his face to my dick.

“First,” I started, wondering how easily the letters left my mouth, in green, yellow, blue and-

“AAAAAH!”

An explosion of pain and pleasure made me wander off the topic. His tip was making the acquaintance of mine. I lifted my head, my cheeks burning, my throat dry and my muscles trembling. His tongue was resting on the tip of my dick.

“If I,” I started again with a shaky voice, “If I terrorize Gotham you'll...FUCK!”

He was moving my balls around in his hand and caressing my pubes.

“You'll kill me!” I yelled and tried to escape his painful touch. By now, that pleasure was so intense that it was turning into pain. It wasn't losing its thrill, its pleasing quality, but it was accompanied by a racking and mind-killing pain. Every touch was like being burned by caustic fire, every kiss felt like he was ramming a pole through my body and every word he said poisoned my mind.

“Continue”

He took my balls into his mouth and I squirmed with pain, gasping. He had never touched me there with his lips or tongue and now that he did I couldn't bear it. It wasn't just the physical reaction of my body which was troubling me; my mind flooded my imagination with corresponding images which intensified the physical sensations.

“If you...if I...”

I lost it and moaned, my body falling into pieces.

“What,” he said and his face showed up from below.

“I...I,” I stammered, heat burning my skin. I was lying in a puddle of water by now, my skin wet from sweat. It just served to bemuse me even more.

“If I cheat on you,” I breathed, using all my strength to pump it into my brain, “You're gonna kill me too.”

“Good,” he stated and left the couch. As much as I could tell in my hazy state he did his best to wiggle his ass as seductively as he could as he went to the black leather couch to sit down.

I couldn't but follow that piece of tasty flesh with greedy eyes. Now that he was gone I wanted him back, I wanted him to touch my skin and burn me up. He sat down and spread his legs so I could see his hard dick. Smirking, he gripped it and started pumping, slowly. I ate him with my eyes, feeling my hard-on pulsing painfully. The spots where he had touched me felt sore, but I wanted more. I _needed_ more. The cock ring was cutting into my flesh; every sinew, vessel, muscle, every inch of my body was begging for release.

His other hand moved down and two fingers disappeared in his ass.  
I felt it being done to me; clearly, I could feel those fingers worming their way through my anus. His moves made me convulse my body and gasp. My heart was about to explode, it hurt and though, it hammered on and on to pump even more blood into that goddamned piece.

“Please!” I hissed.

His smirk grew and he twisted his fingers in my ass, touching my prostate. An explosion of whiteness took my sight. He moaned ecstatically and my heart skipped a beat. Again, he touched that spot and at the same time pulled back the prepuce and exposed the glans again.

“Please!!!” I screamed and curled up again, my bowels turning into hot mush.

He let me hear another cry of pleasure while his fingers rubbed my glans and I squinted my eyes shut and gasped for air. I wasn't sure whether I could stand it much longer without suffering from permanent damage, mentally or physically.

“I'm serious about it,” I panted.

“I'm sure you are,” he retorted with a smirk and gave my dick a squeeze.

With a pained expression, I watched him getting up. Having my release in prospect, I relaxed a little and turned to lie on my back again. However, he did not come to save me. Instead, he spent quite some time playing around with some candle before he finally came back to me with the scalpel in his hand and a sly look. Before I could possibly understand what he was planning to do he pressed the heated metal against my glans.

Pain and pleasure threw my body back into utter confusion and I shrieked.  
The ice cube which he placed on the other side of my glans made me clench my teeth and hold my breath. Hot, cold, painful and pleasing, pushing me into the most ecstatic state I had ever experienced. The sensations were so intense that I lost myself in them.

My vision turned into a tunnel and it felt hard at the edge. I saw through a tiny slit, large enough to understand what I was seeing, but small enough to block any irrelevant information.  
Something slid inside me, glistening pearls, slowly, one after the other. They stretched the tissue and ate into my flesh, filling me up. I gagged, but they wouldn't leave.  
When all of them had disappeared inside me they were moved, back and forth, sliding in and out and I moved along with them, to and fro.

Something was pulled over me, covered me like a pliable, hot blanket. I felt warm, bleeding. The blanket left me, but the heat remained.  
The man who was towering over me was playing with my foreskin, but I couldn't follow our physical conversation anymore. Over and over again, the blanket covered me and I gritted my teeth, feeling my mind shattering.

Suddenly, I felt something being done to me behind me. The skin was ripped from my wrists, but I failed to understand what he really was doing. Eventually, I could move my arms and did not ask any further questions. Helplessly, I clutched at the plastic foil. The constricting ring left my body in a very brutal way too, irritating the sore tissue even more. All I saw was whiteness.

Then, warm determination clasped my dick and pumped it.  
Once.  
Twice.  
I exploded, but there was no space to explode into. I tried to break through, but those pearls kept me from it. My body convulsed and I lost it. The satin liquid white flowed back inside me and searched its way up my urethra where it spilled into my bladder. My nails dug into the foil and ripped it up. Warm, moist air caressed my face, coming from my own mouth.  
Saliva dropped on the black foil. My vision went black.

Nothingness.  
Absolute nothingness.

Something touched my cheek, but I could not respond. My head was turned over, but I couldn't open my eyes. Echoes of sounds drifted past me and a cold breeze made my flesh crawl.

Something touched my legs and my body twitched. I was covered in something, bit by bit until my entire body was wrapped up.  
It was lifted.

“where”

Cold air passed me and disappeared in the darkness.

“you live”

Stimulated by a direct and simple question, my mind pulled itself together and prepared for a reply. My mouth opened on its own and released a barrage of sounds. Whether they made sense or not I didn't know, it happened on its own.

“vingston”

Stairs.

“road”

Light shone through my closed eyelids.

“eight”

Cold.

“teen”

My body spread on something soft. A terrible noise set in and made my stomach turn.  
Warmth covered my eyes and lovingly caressed my forehead. It hurt.

“twentythree”

For a long time, there was nothing but that roaring noise around me and gentle hands on my skin until my body was lifted again and a terrible explosion close to my left ear made my body jerk.  
Stairs.  
A familiar smell.  
My body was put down and the things which were covering me left me again, piece by piece. I lost track of events and fell senseless.

I jerked when I came around again. Warm, painful.  
It took me about half an hour to understand that I was in my flat.  
Another ten minutes to realize that I was lying in my bed.  
Five minutes to find out that I was alone.  
One second to feel the pain.

My chest felt like someone had shredded it with a sickle and my dick was throbbing. I did not have the nerve to explore that now since I fought to stay conscious. But as hard as I tried, I did not succeed and blacked out again.

The next time I became aware of myself I even managed to open my eyes. Afternoon.  
Groaning, I reached for the yellow piece of paper which was lying on the bed just in front of me. My chest hurt terribly and several sore muscles almost made it impossible to do anything without a stabbing pain. When I held it in my hand I had to try a few times until my eyes would finally focus.

“Coffee is ready”

That was exactly what I needed.  
With that one word in my mind, the taste almost present in my mouth and my mind desperately trying to suppress some memories, I laboriously sat up, the prospect of freshly brewed coffee lifting my spirits. I got up, ignoring the collateral damage this action caused and took a few steps. It was such hard work that I hurried to get to the bathroom before my body would collapse. There, I leaned against the wall and grabbed my dick to piss. When it felt surprisingly different in my hand I looked down, finding out that it was swollen. The sore spot on the tip triggered a wave of unpleasant emotions.

While I was still busy sorting out the memories I let it flow and only joined reality again when I saw white fluid in my piss. Disbelieving what my eyes told me, I stared into the toilet bowl until I remembered the cause of that. He had made me come with the dilator inside my dick. I chuckled to myself and left the bathroom to continue my journey to the kitchen. There, next to the coffee machine, I found a cup filled with coffee. I took it and went back to the living room where I sat down on the couch. Just then, I was glad that I was sitting, finally.

Sighing, I rubbed my eyes, then I took a sip. Cold, no sugar.  
As I glanced at the table a shiver ran down my spine. The newspaper from last month was lying there, featuring a special report about one of the biggest companies of our town. No big deal. However, a neatly dressed man who tried to look as competent and trustworthy as possible was smiling on the front page. He could not have missed that when he had been in my flat. Warmth replaced the cold and I felt embarrassed.

To shake off that feeling I took the cup again to have some more coffee, but when I had the liquid in my mouth I froze. Frowning, I moved my tongue around. Yes, it _was_ there, but _what_ was it? I swallowed the coffee and picked that mysterious matter from my lips to have a look at it.  
Dark brown, bristly hair. Pubes, unmistakably.

I took a deep breath and put the curls on the table. I hated and I loved him.  
With closed eyes, I emptied the cup and tried to swallow it all. After I had managed to free my mouth from the fluff I inspected my chest. A large patch was covering the wounds. Simply the thought of how he had done it almost made me lose my senses again.  
I understood it to be a mark. He had not asked my consent.

It was a special kind of humiliation I felt at realizing that he had disregarded me completely, doing as he pleased. I adored him for not asking me. There was barely anything I would not have been up for when we played; just a few things and I hoped he'd never find out about them since I was sure that he would take unique pleasure from trying them on me.  
My heart was racing and I put my hand on it, touching the patch. A burning pain reminded me that I had been changed, forever.

It was a heavy responsibility he had decided to take, but I thought that I understood where he was coming from. He had done that not just to bind me to him but also to bind himself to me, to silence those doubts, that fear, the guilt and the shame. Those marks would be a visual help and reminder that there was no room for his doubts anymore. He was serious about it; we had reached the point of no return.

Indescribable bliss flooded my mind and wetted my eyes. Never again, I'd have to fear losing him again. He was a man of honour and a promise was a promise. I felt freer than ever, a kind of freedom which had not been there before.  
And suddenly, he was just a man with dark brown hair and piercing, shining eyes who loved to fuck with me. Someone who could touch me so gently that I thought it was angels breathing against my skin and someone who could beat and kick me so brutally that I thought it was the devil manifesting.

Inspired with awe, I bowed down to him in my mind. He had chosen me.  
It filled my heart with joy, sentimentality and bliss. I felt whole.  
Opened, ripped apart, touched.  
And loved.

________________


	5. Relapse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce Wayne is facing feelings he thought he had managed to bury a long time ago. He tries to take care of it, but he soon realizes that it takes more than a plastic dick and some water to find some peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce Wayne's POV

**Relapse**

Saturday afternoon. I sat at home, watching TV. The stocks were passing by in the left corner of the screen and next to them, WickyJoe was explaining the newest trends and strategies.  
But somehow, I could not focus on it. An inner unrest made it impossible to sit there in peace and calmness for just five minutes. My mind kept wandering to a place where my thoughts became dark and obscure. And the most unnerving thing was that I could not see past that veil and deal with whatever was making me feel so restless.

I got up and started the Internet to see if there was a party tonight. The nice thing about being the sunny billionaire of the town was that I barely needed an invitation to join them anymore and people were thrilled to welcome me at their parties, even if I showed up in the eleventh hour.

Small Gala party at Lazarott’s. An art gallery with images for sale, donations for the local hospital and some meet and greet. The perfect thing. Not too many people, mostly parasite artists, surgically improved subjects and all other kind of superficial folks. The depth of mind would move between political discussions and what kind of media to use for paintings.

Within five minutes, I had gotten dressed and ready to leave. Before I did so, however, I told Alfred that I was going to attend a party. He loved hearing that, since it gave him the impression that I enjoyed life a bit and did something good for my reputation.  
When I showed up there the host was delighted to introduce me to his guests and I did some walking around, looking at the pictures and talking to some people I knew.

The facility was impressive. It was one of the regular older buildings of Gotham, yet it was obvious that it had been some kind of industrial site with raw brick walls. The roughness of the site was appealing to me, so appealing that I found myself thinking of ways how to ideally make use of it, including black painted X bars and pillories. A man who wished to greet me and have some small talk said my name and I left those worlds and thankfully joined the conversation.

Eventually, after the third glass of champagne, I stepped outside on the porch. It was hot in there, ladies were flouncing around in their summer evening dresses but wearing a suit there was making me feel like walking around in the jungle. Sighing, I looked at the sky. On the one hand, I craved some private minutes and then again, when I was facing myself alone, I wanted to get back and have some company to distract myself from, well, myself.

“Mister Wayne?”

I turned around.  
It was an older lady, wearing a silver gown, her hair a shining golden light in the darkness of the night, her lips painted coral red and her eyes framed with black. Coyly, and at the same time daringly, she approached me until she stopped half a meter in front of me. I straightened my back and slipped into the official Bruce Wayne role, locking my distress away.

“Do you like that style?”

“Which style?”

“The pictures.”

“Yes.”

Just a few words and I knew that it had just been the beginning of a longer story, that she had just made a pass at me. She was beautiful, but that beauty did not just come from her make-up and how she wore her hair. I looked her in the eyes and she smiled. It couldn't hurt to socialize a little. Her mysterious aura teased me and I felt that she was far from being an ordinary woman, maybe knowing of things in this world which even I didn't know of. 

“Do you have some paintings in your house as well?” 

“Yeah, but none of these. They are rather old, many of them from older centuries. We’re an old family and we’ve had a culture vulture who loved collecting art.”

“Really? Which artist?”

“Different ones. But I have to admit, they are all pretty gloomy, no sunflower meadows or birds on trees. Even the fruity still lives seem very macabre.”

I drew a laugh from her which made me smile too.  
With relief I observed that I still was able to chat with someone in a normal way. All that which had been raging in my head suddenly was gone and I looked her in the eyes again. Dark ice blue. She wasn’t one of those young things but much older than me and she had an aura of experience, making me feel like she knew exactly what she wanted although she hid it so cleverly and clothed it in small talk words.

“I have often been reading of you in the papers, Mr. Wayne,” she said, holding her glass with both hands, looking at me expectantly. There was more respect in her eyes than I wished there was.

“Surely, you’ve been reading more of me in the yellow press than anywhere else,” I laughed in faked embarrassment. I knew what people expected to see from me. It was the dirty secrets, mistakes and character flaws which found their way into the papers through highly exaggerated and attention-grabbing headlines. I was a bit disappointed that she had touched on that topic; her physical beauty dwindling in view of the chosen subject of conversation.

“That's how I got to know your name. But frankly, I don’t believe all the rumours which are out there in Gotham,” she said with a lifted eyebrow which made her look dangerously seductive.

“Which ones are the hottest?”

“That...,” she started and stepped a little closer and gave me a very provoking look, “You haven’t been out with a woman for the last three months anymore because you turned gay.”

I had to draw on all my reserves to produce a ringing laughter which wouldn’t sound forced or false. As she watched me laughing she gave me a charming smile, showing me that it had just been a test; deliberate provocation and advances at the same time to see whether I’d finally unwind or just retreat into my shell. Jokes about sexuality always revealed the truth about the other and the following reaction just told the teller about his conversational partner’s views. Jokes could be a weapon. A tool to read people. But I was very well aware of that.

“I think once a year, they make me gay,” I replied, still smiling at her.

Yet, when I realized that my smile was fading and my expression starting to show what I really thought I took a sip of champagne.

“But I resist that temptation,” I added after swallowing.

She pursed her lips and smiled at me and I pushed those images which were torturing my mind aside. One of her hands left her glass now and she put it on my chest.  
That was the moment when all small talk ended and we were getting down to business. She put her glass on the top of the railing and clasped my hand. Her hand was warm, so delicate and small. So fragile that I almost meant to break her fingers just by holding it.

Another inviting look. Loving eyes caressed my face. While I smiled back at her, patiently allowing her to discover my mind, she moved a little closer. There had been times when I had longed for that, when I had craved a woman who'd just touch me gently, kiss my chest and nudge my cheek with her nose. A pure untainted woman who'd just love me. As I discovered her fingers she finally gave me a full bloom smile.

I froze.  
My smile faded when strange emotions flooded my mind. I wanted to take a step back, but my back was pressing against the railing. While I tried to keep up that smile, heat flooded my cheeks and what I had tried to lock away now broke through and threw me into complete emotional chaos. What the heck was I doing here? I wasn't supposed to be there at all and even less was I supposed to flirt with that woman. Smitten with remorse, I let go of her hand. 

Puzzled, I looked at her and she dropped her smile as well, understanding that something was wrong. I looked down at her hand on my chest. A most beautiful, dainty woman’s hand, decorated with a silver ring. Fine long fingers, promising the gentlest touch, smooth skin and clean, shiny nails.  
Her fragility deranged me. I was drowning in a sea of blood.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, put her hand down and left her. I heard her calling my name, but I just wanted to get away from her. Without looking right or left, I made my way through the crowd, out of the gallery and down the street. I had tried so hard to make it a good evening and the goddess of gentleness had even chosen to come to me, so voluntarily, offering herself to me, promising me a night in the embrace of tender labia and I had declined her offer. 

Right on the way to the taxis I debated on going back and asking her out, but something else took over and beat my mind senseless. When I had finally found a cab I sat down and watched the streetlights passing by, flash after flash. There, in the privacy and safety of the back of that car, I dared to relax the reins and see where my mind was taking me to.

Full contact, unbridled violence and a splitting laughter.

Angry at seeing that the lair of truth was a horrible place, I watched the streetlights again until we arrived at home, suppressing those unsettling mind trips. I felt tired and spent, but it wasn’t from the alcohol. And though, when I had entered and put off my shoes something was pulling on me, tugging, pushing me, nudging me, kicking me. I could not tell what it was, but I knew that it was driving me mad. I went to the bathroom to wash my hands.

When I looked at myself in the mirror I saw it.  
It was undeniable. Eyes which craved for destruction were gazing at me in the mirror. That same look which had sent me on nightly tours through the clubs and dungeons of Gotham.  
As I became aware of the problem it just grew.  
No one there to tend to it.  
I couldn’t have asked her out, I would have destroyed her, made her loving, tender lips bleed.  
How far had I fallen.

That man which was looking at me wasn't me. The despair in my eyes made me feel afraid and as I kept staring at the image it worsened.  
What had I become? I dropped my gaze and looked at the white porcelain basin.  
_Slash your wrists.  
Ram a huge kitchen knife into your ribcage.  
Look for rotten food in the fridge and eat it.  
Break your ribs._

I rubbed my eyes and tried to pull myself together. Often enough, I had gone through such times to know that I had to watch out now since I considered it possible to just find myself leaning against the kitchen furniture, looking at the handle of that knife sticking out of my stomach. Chaotic drives were fighting for control inside me and I could do shit about it.

I swallowed and looked at myself again. Right now, I was ready to humiliate myself, and those thoughts about being a depraved, sick faggot just served to give me some satisfaction. I dropped my pants and squeezed my semi-hard dick. Tonight, I’d take care of it myself; next time, he’d have to pay for it. It had all started again with him and he felt that something strange was going on with me. He encouraged it, he nurtured it and the more I lost myself in that whirling chaos of lust and violence, the cheerier he got. And I was too weak-willed than to resist. 

Being what I was, Bruce Wayne and Batman at the same time already claimed all my mental capacities and I couldn’t find the motivation to restrain my private, my most private life even further by denying me that source of pleasure. My days as Bruce Wayne were dull, my nights as Batman demanding and exhausting so why shouldn’t I just keep something I could indulge in.

However, it was the first time in years, almost decades, that I felt that intense urge to get hurt again. He had triggered it. There was a kind of pain I could not touch, I could not reach and not alleviate. Only those thoughts about physical violence made it easier to stand. At one point, I thought that my mental pain was just screaming for release, for expression, for voicing it, showing it, but then again, there was no mental pain. That pain just came from the impossibility of satisfying that need. 

My dick was itching. It had turned hard at those thoughts and I couldn't ignore it anymore. The more I thought of blood the worse it got. I was torn between enjoying and loathing it since any sane man would have described that state as a severe mental illness.  
I felt even worse.

I sighed, realizing that reasoning and digging deeper didn't help to bear it more easily. Whatever was the source of that pain, it was just over my head. Usually, I did understand myself and why I was doing what, but in that respect, I was completely helpless. The best solution would have been a knife in my back, but in the end, I was too much of a coward. Endless questioning from Alfred, the risk of hitting some vital parts and so on.  
I just needed someone to hurt me.

I went to the dressing room and opened the cupboard with the costumes. In the second drawer, I stored all the stuff left from those nights and I took a black silicone dildo and the lube. It was long, big and filling; a precise replication of a real dick. Just a little bigger.  
With that, I went to my bureau and opened the curtains so the moonlight would lighten the place up. After I had put some lube on the dick I put it on the floor and squatted down. I would go without stretching; I wanted it to be intense and painful.

While I held the dildo in place I grabbed my own dick and moved it around in my hand. Gently but forcefully, I pressed my anus against the silicone glans and felt it parting my muscles. I stopped and waited for adjustment. Just the thought of what that would look like made my heart race and I was panting before I was having substitutional sex already.

I squatted down further and the glans entered my ass. As the muscles moved over the corona of the glans I shuddered; it was always a special pleasure to get past this.  
Bravely, I moved down and got half of it buried in my ass before it started to hurt. I stopped and began to pump my dick. Additionally, I moved slightly up and down, fucking the dildo and by doing so, getting more and more of it into my ass.

Soon, I started gasping and moaning. I needed more, so much fucking more. Inspired by a sudden need for pain, I sat down on the dick and yelped. It was such moments when I lost all sense of reason and blindly followed my drive, forgetting all qualms about the risks of such actions. Shuddering with pain and pleasure, I sat on the floor, the silicone balls digging into my ass cheeks, my dick begging for attention. 

After a moment of recollecting myself I started moving again, up and down and stroking my dick. I was so close. So good. So-

“Master Bruce?”

When I heard the words the light was already turned on. Mercilessly, it illuminated the bureau and the pathetic creature which was crouching on a plastic dick in front of the window. Completely baffled, I looked at the old man in his night gown, looking back at me. My mind was blank, so I even forgot to let go of my dick to somewhat de-escalate the situation.

“Alfred,” I whispered.

It was midnight, Saturday, and in my pain craze I had forgotten that he still was up to watch his favourite late night show. He had heard my yell.  
Sighing, I got up, not without screwing up my face when the dick slid from my ass. I took a step back and leaned against the wall. Just one step, but it was the distance I needed between him and me. Ashamed that he had caught me at that inglorious moment, I covered my eyes with my hand and thought about something to say.

“Can you turn off the lights,” I finally said, my voice faint and broken.

He wasn’t staring at me out of curiosity, I knew that. He was too much of a man of that old school than to do that. He was rather looking at me to think up a way how he could help me, I was sure about that. But I couldn’t deal with that right now and I knew that there was no way in hell he could help me with that. I felt so alone, so isolated that his presence was pure mockery.

He turned off the light and through the darkness, the deepest darkness I had ever seen in this room, he said: “I’m sorry, Master Bruce.”  
I watched him leaving the room and closing the door behind him. 

It was not the first time he had caught me masturbating. But whenever that happened, I felt like utter shit. I wouldn’t have suffered from such feelings of worthlessness if he had burst in on me fucking a woman, but he made sure to steer clear of me whenever I had one in my bedroom. He had been worried about me, that was why he had come to see what was going on. Quite a few times, I had arrived at home, needing help with bruises and once I had even burnt my left arm with hot tea water at 2am and he had gotten up and taken care of me.

But all that fuss had not managed to kill the joy that little obstinate thing was still expressing by horizontally oscillating between the floor and ceiling.  
I went to the kitchen and filled a jar with lukewarm water, then I poured quarter of a litre into a glass and drank it. I repeated that three times until the jar was empty and I refilled it. Before my brain could slap me I hurried to continue and had three more glasses until my stomach started protesting.

It was bulging obscenely and there was a sharp pain in my left side, but I was convinced that I’d manage to down at least 2 litres. Quarter of a litre was still missing.  
It was hard labour to breathe by now and since I had downed those glasses so fast my mind had not had the time to make me feel sick. However, now that I was pausing I felt a terrible sickness in my stomach and my muscles were twitching. I couldn’t tell whether it was because I felt a little cold or because of the tension. My dick had reached its full size by now again. I could easily convert pain into pleasure when I was in the mood for it.

When the pain faded a little I emptied the last glass and regretted that instantly. To my surprise, it felt like all the liquid was gathering in the lower region of my bowels and I couldn’t even see my dick anymore since my belly blocked my view. The twitching of my muscles got worse, especially those in my torso were contracting uncontrollably. I waited another two minutes and when it felt like my stomach had adjusted itself to the new load I filled another glass and downed it.

Panting and moaning, I sank down on the floor, hugging my stomach.  
A drop of precum had left my dick and I prayed that Alfred would not hit upon the idea to get himself a glass of hot milk now. To keep that tragedy from happening, I got up, slowly and carefully, went to the first aid cupboard and took three sleeping pills. I left the packet lying on the worktop so he’d see it in the morning. He should see that I was fucked up beyond all repair.

I went to the sleeping room and sat down, my belly pressing against my dick and my legs. It didn’t hurt anymore, but it felt horribly full and I knew that it would take some time until that feeling would go away. But that was exactly what I needed.  
To be filled.

I curled up in the dark. How I craved a hard dick in my ass. Images of him fucking me senseless tortured me and I hit the mattress; frustrated that it had ended like this. It didn't matter who it was, whether it was him or someone else, I just needed to get damaged.  
No, that wasn't true. I wanted _him_ to damage me and the more I thought of him abusing me the worse it got.  
I was in hell.

With tears in my eyes I got up and stormed into the hallway to get me the phone from my coat. On the way to the bedroom I had to keep myself from throwing it against a wall. I wanted to destroy something, to see something breaking, bleeding, falling to pieces. Huffing and puffing in anger and pain, I sat down on the bed and searched for the entry. I dialled the number and waited. 1am. Either he was busy or asleep. With every time I heard the waiting signal my desperation grew. I had no idea what I would say, I just needed to hear his voice, something of him, some-

My call was answered. The first thing I heard was something like “gaargh”, then a hrumph.

“Yeah”

I closed my eyes at feeling sweet pain exploding in my guts. An angelic voice. It sounded so different on the phone, like another person.  
When I had somewhat come down from that short admiration trip I opened my mouth to say something, but suddenly, I was at a loss for words. He, however, waited in patience. I didn't know whether he knew that it was me; I had added my phone number on his phone when I had taken him home last time we had met.

I wanted to say his name, but then again, it felt weird to call him “Joker”. While I was still trying to think up a way how to start that talk I heard how he removed the phone from his ear. A few moments of silence, then I assumed that he was listening for a sound again. I was aching for him, but I didn't know how to interact with him. Heck, I had been in his ass, in his mouth and _in_ his dick even and now I didn't know how to talk to him.  
I put the phone on the bed and hissed a cussword.

“Is that you, Wayne”

His words went straight to my crotch. I was hopelessly lost.

“Keep talking,” I whispered into the phone, trying to hide the need in my voice.

Silence followed. Silence which made me fear that I had put him off.

“I'm sorry,” I added, feeling like shit. I felt so awkward.

“What?”

Every single letter was pure torture. I thought of his red lips, how they formed those letters, how they would close around my dick to suck me off, how his teeth would touch the tender skin, how he'd bite me and make me scream.

“I'm sorry,” I whispered into the ether again, unable to disguise my voice anymore. It was killing me, too much, too painful, too desperate.  
I needed him to hurt me.

“What...”

Silence.

I grabbed my balls and squeezed them. I wanted him to cut along the raphe, to tear the skin and make them pop out. Rip them up, tear them out, cook them, eat them.  
When I came to myself again I clenched my teeth at realizing the absurdness of those thoughts. I needed help. 

“Please keep talking,” I adjured him, watching myself going to pieces.

Silence again.

“I have no idea what's going on in this fucked up head of yours. I've just been sleeping, having a wet dream about you.”

I clenched my teeth and took a deep breath. What a fucking tease at the wrong time. Cum on his dick, on the sheets, on his hands. I gave my balls a squeeze again which made me moan. Imagining him hearing that, seeing how fucked up I was just turned me on. I rubbed my glans, aching for deliverance.

“What the fuck”

“Hurt me”

Silence.  
I didn't care anymore what he thought of me; my priority right now was to find salvation.  
In his words.

“I'm serious about this,” I whispered, feeling another wave of despair washing over me.

Silence again.  
He cleared his throat.

“Okay. Give me ten minutes.”

Before I could answer I heard the phone being put down. Steps, a door being opened and water turned on.

Something like hope rose inside me. I felt like utter shit, having actually called him up at 1am.  
_Him_.  
I knew that this phone call would be an issue next time we'd meet, but I knew no other way how to save myself.  
While he was showering I went to have a long piss, then I hurried back to the bedroom to check on the phone. The water had been turned off and it was silent. I kept waiting, longing for his voice again. Eventually, he picked up the phone and I pressed it against my ear.

“Alright. Are you hard?”

“Yes,” I replied, blushing. 

“Take a picture of yourself and send it to me. Your dick must be on it as well.”

“Can we videophone?”

“No.”

I clenched my teeth and took a deep breath. Under normal circumstances, my mind would have revolted against this order full-throatedly, but currently, I had to be excluded from the principle of trust. Worse, it thrilled me to think of him receiving a picture of me naked and hard since I would surrender myself to him completely.

So without questioning his order at all, I positioned myself on the bed and took a few pictures. He made me feel so dirty that my cheeks were red, but I was sure that this was the point of it. I looked at the pictures. Imagining him receiving the file, opening and looking at it made me feel so embarrassed. Never I would have sent anyone a picture of me for flirting reasons, not even one where I was dressed. And now I would send him a picture which couldn't be more intimate. I knew that he'd see the pain in my eyes. I felt so fucked.

“What's taking you so long, you pathetic fag?”

Speechless, I stared at the phone. I had opened the gates of hell. And they were wide open now.  
With shaking hands, I selected a picture and sent it to him. Then I waited again. Some of the worst moments of my life. A bubble of fear burst and I took the phone to speak again.

“Please don't use that against me, ever,” I whispered, my voice shaking as well.

Probably, he was just looking at the picture. I regretted it.

“I won't. You're my top; I just serve you.”

His voice was clear and calm.

“I'm so fucked,” I breathed into the phone, unable to hold back anymore.

“It's okay.”  
_It's okay. Who else should understand you._

I leaned back and covered my eyes. I could barely stand talking to him like that and on the other hand, he was the only one who could help me.

“You've got pins?”

“Which pins?”

“Needles, thread, PINS.”

“Yeah.”

“Get some and disinfect them.”

I put the phone away and went to get me some from the sewing box, then I sanitized them.

“I got them.”

“Take one. Put it into your dick.”

I stared into the darkness. The words alone stirred me up.  
I took one, grabbed my dick and slowly pushed one in until only the green head was sticking out anymore. The sensation made me gasp; it hurt and pleased me at the same time.

“Another one.”

While I watched it disappearing I could not deny the satisfying aspect of it; destroying that fucked up thing gave me the satisfaction I craved. Sometimes, I had wished I had been able to just cut it off, but that wouldn't have solved the problem. It was in my soul.

“Three, for me.”

I took the third one and pushed it into the neck of the glans. The thought what would happen if it got limp again did not cross my mind at all at that time. It better should have.

“Take a picture.”

I had forgotten my pain and found myself playing. That was what I needed.  
I took another picture and sent it. After another minute of silence he got back to talking to me.

“Better?”

“Slightly.”

“Then let's spice it up. Drink half a bottle of Whiskey. Or whatever you can find.”

I hesitated, then I said: “I can't.”

“What does that mean, you can't.”

“I've taken sleeping pills.”

Silence.

“How many”

“Three.”

“Go and throw up. And take the phone along. I want to listen.”

Ashamed, I got up, went to the kitchen and put the phone on the countertop. I prepared a glass of warm water and added three teaspoons of salt. I downed it with one gulp and waited. It didn't take long and I felt the urge to vomit and I bent over to throw up. All the water I had drunk before left my body again together with the remnants of the pills. I spat out several times, then I took the phone and went to the living room to snatch a half-full bottle of hard liquor. Just now I noticed how painful it was to walk around with those needles in my dick.

Looking forward to more of that, I went back to bed, placed the phone on the nightstand and switched on the loudspeaker. I took a generous swig from the bottle and waited for his words again. Patiently, I lay in the dark until I thought that I needed more light and thus switched on the bedside light. The sight of my dick made me flinch. It looked painful, it _was_ painful and made me feel utterly deranged. If someone saw me like that he would have admitted me to the asylum immediately before I would commit worse shit.

“I won't talk to you before you haven't emptied that.”

I was under his spell. Like daddy's good boy, I took the bottle and gulped down a quarter of the liquor before my throat caught fire.

“Are you being a pussy? Get this down.”

Merciless.  
With my eyes closed, I finished it and fell into a coughing fit. I slammed the bottle against the floor to tell him that I was done with the execution of his order.  
Sweat had formed on my forehead and I lay down, trying to survive that burning pain in my stomach. Sleeping pills, salt water, alcohol. A glorious evening. While I waited for my body to accustom itself to too much high proof alcohol a stab of pain in my dick made me check on it; it was just getting smaller. And the smaller it got the worse the pain got.

“Fuck,” I exclaimed.

“What”

“The pins”

“The pins _what_. Goddamnit, give me a full sentence!”

“I...my erection is subsiding”

I couldn't believe what I was saying. A quick glance at the door assured me that Alfred was _not_ there and had not heard anything.

“Take out the pins”

I hurried to take them out since they pinned the foreskin to places where it did not belong anymore. Mesmerized, I stared at the blood. The alcohol was starting to kick in.

“What have you done today?”

“What do you mean,” I said into the room, my eyes glued to the liquid red.

“You got up and?”

“Breakfast, then I looked through some business stuff...”

I grabbed my dick and squeezed. Blood sept from the pricks and I spread it on my fingers.

“And?!”

“It's bleeding.”

I heard him taking a deep breath. It had been his idea to get me sloshed.

“Business stuff, and then?”

“I had some calls, went to get a suit from the city, a sandwich, back home and watched TV, then I went to a party. But I left soon.”

“Why”

The woman came to my mind again and I felt awful. I could not tell him about that. I remained silent for some moments, thinking about the right words.

“I didn't feel quite alright.”

“Why”

“Actually, it had started in the afternoon already when I watched TV.”

“What did you watch”

“Nothing in particular. It was more of a distraction.”

“From what”

“From my mood.”

We were having a talk. We had had sexual intercourse, impact play, all sorts of unconventional intimate encounters, but we had never had a talk yet.

“Why”

“At some point,” I started off and stopped suddenly. An overwhelming craving for violence made it impossible for me to continue. Typically, it got worse with the alcohol. Desperately, I rubbed my head against the pillow, panting. I had no control over myself anymore; there was just one thought and I could not suppress it for long enough anymore to have a proper conversation. When I was in that mood it would hit me over and over again until I would find release.

“Help me”

“I'm trying to. How does it feel”

“Terrible,” I breathed, unable to speak loudly anymore.

“Speak”

“I want to get hurt, I want to be beaten, I want to feel my ribs breaking, I want to throw up blood and I want to be pinned to the floor and get raped,” I confessed, my voice breaking from despair. I was breathing hard, imagining all those things and experiencing the lack of them at the same time.  
Thinking of him hearing those awful words from me made me feel ashamed again and I got up from the bed and went to the window, needing some distance.

It was at such times that I just wanted to end my life to end this horrible suffering. I could neither explain it nor therapize it away and truth be told, as much as it racked me, I wanted to keep it. It was a bittersweet state, corrosive acid in veins, violence in my heart and burning sexual desire in my crotch. There was no hope.  
I leaned against the wall and tried to just exist without any thoughts or emotions, just bearing that maddening drive.

“...ayne?”

If he had just been there. 

“Get the fuck back to the phone!!!” he yelled.

I needed to hear that.  
Slowly, I staggered over to the bed. Somehow, I managed to place my body on the bed and I only became aware of myself again when I was lying on it. That was what I needed.

“It's so awful,” I whined into the phone.

It was embarrassing how I was begging to get hurt.

“Pull yourself together. On a scale from one to ten, how bad is it”

“Ten.”

“Get a hammer”

Get a hammer.  
My dick twitched. Full of zest for action, I got up and made it to the cubbyhole where I kept some of those tools. I couldn't avoid making some terrible noise and I just expected Alfred to leave his room and check on me but wondrously, he stayed in his room.  
With my head in the clouds, I got back to the bed and sat down.

“Lie down”

I did as the told me.

“Crack your ribs. Left side.”

I swallowed hard and gripped the handle, trying to estimate the amount of force I'd need to crack but not break them. Chances were high that it would go wrong. Bright prospects.  
With a brain heavily soaked with alcohol, I clumsily sat up a bit and tightened the grip around the handle. I looked at the piece of steel, slightly afraid all of a sudden.

“Go ahead”

His raw voice encouraged me. I clenched my teeth and hit my chest. 

“Make my day”

His last words were drowned out by the dull, yet surprisingly loud sound which still echoed in my head when the pain set in. I gave a loud groan, dropped the hammer and curled up. The pain spread in my chest and almost made it impossible for me to breathe. Heat flooded my cheeks and I gasped.

I was used to such damage; often, I was leaving fights with minor or major wounds and a cracked rib was nothing out of the ordinary, but usually, the adrenaline barely made me notice those things. I pressed my head into the pillow and held my breath.  
Had we been videophoning I would have seen the broad grin in his face. He remained silent, leaving me alone in my distress until he voiced the next command.

“Grab your balls”

Still struggling to catch my breath, I reached down and cupped them.

“Squeeze”

“Give me a second,” I gasped, my entire torso revolting.

“I said squeeze!”

I did so and had to moan again. That was the time when my need for destruction surfaced again, fuelled by the pain, and I squeezed harder.

“You hard?”

“Yeah”

Every single letter hurt to pronounce.

“Touch yourself. Jerk off. Place the phone next to you, I want to watch.”

Laboriously, I sat up and opened the video app, but the screen was black.

“I can't see you,” I breathed, careful not to move my ribcage too much.

“I know. Put it down.”

Knowing that he would see me but I would not see him made me feel uncomfortable. I would have nothing to go on while he'd see everything. Silently disapproving of that, I placed the phone on the nightstand, guessing the angle so that he would see me, then I lay down again.

“You look like shit,” I heard his raw voice through the phone.

“I _feel_ like shit,” I hissed, spurred on by the pain, turning angry, torn between the need to get hurt and talk at the same time.

“You have no idea how this-”

“Shut up and do it.”

“Fuck you!” I yelled towards the phone, feeling greatly misunderstood. 

I heard laughter.  
Suddenly, I felt defiant. He was so far away. I wished I could have gotten up and picked a fight with him, an honest fight where he'd have beaten, kicked and bitten me, not a telephone conversation where I couldn't even see him. Frustration took over and for some moments, I concentrated on resisting the temptation to take the phone and smash it against the wall again until my ribcage hurt from breathing deeply. 

Instead, I took the phone and uninhibitedly yelled into it at the top of my lungs: “You bloody asshole! You have no idea what this is like! You can't even tell aggression from depression, you're just a socially incompetent and deranged sadist, I don't even know why I phoned you, you poor git!”

Silence.

My chest hurt terribly and I felt lightheaded from spending too much air on too many unnecessary words. Breathing hard, I stared at the phone, waiting for him to hang up.  
But he didn't.  
While I calmed down he still didn't say anything. My own words rang in my ears and I revisited them, now feeling a pang of regret replacing the overwhelming anger.  
He didn't need to put up with me. I had phoned him, woken him up, hoping for his support and now that he played along I wanted something else. I had gotten carried away, insulting him in the worst way possible just because I had suffered from a fit of frustration. Everything had seemed so hopeless and his distant words had made it all worse.

Frowning in sorrow, I stared at the black screen, thinking about a way how to apologize. The pain in my chest made it hard to breathe. Now I really felt like shit. My own pathological drives had taken control over me and shut out any reason or empathy. I had wreaked my anger on him. And he really did not deserve that. I choked back the tears, hoping that he would just remove the cover from the camera on his phone so that I could see him. 

“Tomorrow, 9pm at the X Ways,” he said in a flat voice, then he hung up.

I kept staring at the phone for another minute before I closed the app and put the phone away. My hard-on was gone and so was my frustration. I just felt like a piece of shit, angry at myself. Hissing a curse into the darkness, I kicked the hammer from the bed, switched off the lamp and lay down. At least I had that pain in my chest to feed on. When I had spent about 15 minutes insulting myself for screwing things up like that I received an SMS. My heart beat sped up and I turned around to grab the phone.

_And don't do anything stupid_

I reread the phrase several times.  
I had wronged him. He knew exactly what that was like.  
I took a deep breath, concetrated on the pain and put the phone on the nightstand again, leaving the message on the screen.  
Why couldn't I be some average, boring fart who enjoyed building model ships or collecting plants. In a huge and pretty glass house. With cacti and orchids.  
Sighing, I closed my eyes and curled up.

In the morning, I got up and went straight to the therapy room where I checked on my ribs. An ugly bruise decorated my chest. Looking at myself in the mirror showed me something I rather would have chosen to deny if truth had not been staring back at me. I wrapped some bandages around my chest and put on a shirt to hide the bruise. On the way to the kitchen I picked up briefs so I wouldn't need to face up to the followinjg inquisition in the buff.

When I entered the room I glanced at the kitchen, spotting Alfred working there. I felt so down that I couldn't even bring myself to greet him. Carefully, I sat down like I always did and waited until Alfred would leave his Sunday lunch preparations and hand over some coffee.  
I propped up my head and covered my eyes with my hand. The cup was placed on the table in front of me and I knew that he looked at me, but I couldn't look at him. Silently, he went back to the worktop and prepared the meat. I took a deep breath, as carefully as I could, and added some sugar to the coffee. 

“Master Bruce,” he started off a few moments later and I was glad that he finally broke the silence which was harder to bear than his questions sometimes.

“How are you?”

I licked my lips and gazed at the coffee. No way I could tell him how I was. I just rubbed my eyes and thought about something to say. Yes, I had wished him to talk and address it, but now I felt even more awkward. Part of me felt so horribly embarrassed and part of me enjoyed feeling that way. Knowing that _he_ knew that I was just an emotional wreck somewhat turned me on. Sometimes, I just hated myself for what I was.  
When I didn't say anything he took a few steps towards me so that I _had_ to look up. He stared deep into my eyes and I could not look away. 

“Please don't tell me we're back to those times,” he said.

There was worry, but there was also disappointment.  
I didn't know what to reply, but I couldn't, anyway. The lump in my throat didn't let me.  
Sighing, he turned around to continue working. I cleared my throat and sipped my coffee.  
It tasted salty.

________________


	6. Rearrangement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seeing his top in that state has left the Joker quite disconcerted. But despite his proposal to meet, he is afraid of facing Bruce. And since it is his first time topping - worse, topping a man that is so much more experienced in these matters, he is even more worried.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Joker's POV

** Rearrangement **

I couldn’t sleep that night. Somehow, I drifted off into a half-conscious state where jumbled thoughts manifested in the shape of hammers and I felt like being the handle.  
At 5am I managed to leave that state and fully wake up. As soon as I was in full control of my thoughts again he came to my mind. I hoped he was just asleep and not bleeding to death on his bed. He had sounded horrible on the phone and under normal circumstances, I’d have jumped through the phone to choke him at facing such insults, but he was mentally impaired.

I knew that kind of state well enough to be so forgiving. It was untypical of me, but just part of the deal. My feelings for yours, my trust for yours, my patience for yours. I would have regretted leaving at the first sign of dissent, I knew that. What I would have given up just to stroke my ego was too precious than to drop it like that.  
Was I growing soft on him?

My mind took a shot at calming me, but I resisted the sudden urge to take the phone and send him an SMS with insults. I had to be indulgent to him. He’d apologize tomorrow, I was sure about that.  
I didn't want to make things worse and make him feel like he could not talk to me about such things when in fact, I considered myself to be the _only_ one he could safely talk to. I was afraid that he'd rather slash his wrists next time than call me up if I turned against him now.

I knew that he was suffering torments. I myself had gone through many of those attacks, at least I thought that mine and his were comparable from what I had heard and seen. Madness in those eyes. Not the kind of schizophrenic or phobic kind of, but a very clear one. Going mad with a lucid mind. It was the worst kind of thing when you could watch yourself going mad and could do shit about it.

Sighing, I got up to make some coffee. His image was still in my mind; he was aching for pain. Lost in thoughts, I touched my very early morning hard-on. For a second, I toyed with the idea of masturbating, but I would have had to send him an SMS, asking him for permission and I felt that it was not an especially convenient time for that request.  
When I had prepared the coffee and the machine was working I stood there, looking out of the window, imagining him groaning with pain. I could not help it, it turned me on so much. But the more I was thinking of him in that way the harder it got to resist. So I took a cold shower, knowing that it would only be of temporary help and that it would all just build up until the evening. I’d give him hell if he was yearning for it.

I spent the rest of the day walking around in Gotham, looking at shop windows. When I passed a shop I had never noticed before I hit upon an idea and entered it. I bought a few things and left with a grin.  
Then I had some lunch on a park bench just to distract myself. I barely saw anyone passing me; just objects drifting past me. My world had become so small.  
By the time the sun was setting I was so jittery that I walked around in my flat, from one end to the other, thinking about what to wear, how to start our conversation, what to do, whether I could touch him at all. Somehow, he seemed so pristine and sacred to me; a man who could not simply be touched or even be hurt by someone like me. And then again, his awe-inspiring aura was like an aphrodisiac, the thought of tainting him so sweet. I knew that I wasn’t the first one to touch him like that, but for me, it would be the first time. And for him, it would be the first time as well.

I was so excited that I had been running around with a hard-on for half an hour now; I’d be spent already when we’d meet. Smooth leather pants. Glad that I had finally made up my mind, I took them out of the cupboard and put them on. I had bought them at a time when I had thought that every self-respecting gangland boss should have at least one pair of leather pants and gloves, but I had never worn them. This was the time for them. I decided for a simple black longshirt and before I finally left I searched for the collar and put it into my pocket.

While I sat in the cab with Nick I tried to come up with a schedule for tonight. However, as much as I thought of touching or hurting him, I couldn't concentrate. Usually, it was very easy for me to plan anything from a robbery to a hijacking and have several backup plans in store, but to think about the flow of a BDSM session was something else.  
Suddenly, I was afraid that he wouldn't be there at all, having backed out. It was a simple projection, since it was something _I_ would have done if I had been in that situation, but I had to be sure about it.

“Is he there already?” I asked the driver.

After a short glance at the rearview mirror, he replied, his eyes glued to the street: “Fifteen minutes ago, he was in my car.”

Fifteen minutes. No waiting today. He was really out of his mind.

“Did he say something?” I continued, distracting myself from my feelings.

“No. He's just been looking out of the window.”

Smirking, I leaned back and did the same until we arrived at the club. When I wanted to pay Nick told me that he had already paid for me too. I snorted, disapproving of that, feeling like being patronized. I leaned back again. Somehow, I didn't want to leave the car since I was afraid of meeting him so I started a talk again while he kept the engine running.

“What do you think about this all?”

I expected to hear that he didn't enjoy what he was doing, but that he did it for the money. I wanted him to affirm my belief that it was just a sick thing. But he misunderstood me and my intention.

“I'm not getting paid for having an opinion; I'm getting paid for driving people and keeping my mouth shut,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“Well, what do you think of me and him meeting for those games?” I tried again, moving it to a more personal level in the hope of getting an answer that way.

“Is it games?” he replied, looking at me in the mirror.

I licked my lips and looked back in silence.

“I think you are lucky,” he added and looked back at the street.

“Why so”

“He's a loyal and honest man.”

“How would _you_ know.”

“Reading people is part of my business.”

“And what am I?” I asked, smirking.

He turned around and looked at me for some moments and I tried to not change my expression at all.

“The thruth?” he asked, lifting a brow.

“Of course.”

“A calculating emotional terrorist.”

I closed my mouth and kept smirking. That was true. Yet, at the same time, his answer bothered me in that context. As much as I had gone to great effort to establish my reputation as a ruthless criminal, I did not want to act that side out on him. Not anymore. It was out of place when we'd play.

“When I'm with him too?”

“No,” he said and looked me deep in the eyes, “Cause I think you've fallen for him.”

I dropped my smirk and glared at him. It just showed him that he was right, but I couldn't hide it.

“If you tell that to _anyone_ else, even your wife or colleagues, I'll personally see to your dismission.”

“As I told you, _Sir_ , I am not getting paid for having an opinion but for keeping my mouth shut.”

The ghost of a smirk drove me so wild that I hurried out of the car and slammed the door shut. Silently cursing him, I entered the location and immediately spotted him sitting in one of the armchairs. From smoke to smother. He had his face propped up on his hand, his fingers covering his eyes. Sighing, I went towards him and stopped a meter next to him. I still had no idea how to start our conversation; I'd let him start it.  
When he realized that someone was standing there and not moving he looked up and upon discovering that it was me he quickly got up and inhaled to speak.

“I’m sor-“

I slapped his face and cut him off. 

“Pardon?” I asked.

For a few moments, his head remained in that position until he faced me again to try again.

“I’m-“

Again, I slapped his face so hard that he almost stumbled.

“What?” I asked again.

He needed less time this time to think about a proper answer. My palm hurt from slapping him, but his cheek must have hurt more.

“Nothing,” he whispered, cupping his cheek.

He looked so troubled and so scared that I would have loved to rip the clothes from his body and fuck him right here and now, but I had to be patient. I took his arm and pulled him towards the reception where I asked for a room. After I was given a key I went upstairs, dragging him along. I could barely believe that I had a carte blanche to torture him. Until now, it had always been me craving that violence, neurotically returning to him beating me in my mind, thinking of him how he made me bleed and how he fucked with my mind. I still craved it, but it magically had been turned into the contrary when I had seen him sitting there.

All that craving for pain had turned into the lust for hurting him. It made my dick twitch when I thought of him being at my mercy, when I thought of whipping him, how he would scream with pain and try to dodge the next lash. A delicious thought. I knew that he enjoyed the whip, at least he enjoyed whipping me so it seemed natural to me that he’d enjoy getting flogged too. And even if he didn’t, I _would_ enjoy it.  
I unlocked the door and pushed him into the room, so forcefully that he fell. Just then, I realized that I was imitating his behaviour since he seemed to have a special penchant for making me fall. And making me wait.

“If you aren’t naked within 10 seconds I’ll have to help you and you do not want that,” I said, lifting an eyebrow.

“Ten”

Dumbfounded, he looked at me.

“Nine”

His eyes grew wide and he unbuttoned his jacket.

“Eight”

It fell from his arms and he started unbuttoning his shirt.

“Seven”

Half of it.

“Six”

He started panting in distress and hurried to unbutton that damned shirt.

“Five”

His chest was naked. A terrible bruise was on his chest right under his left nipple. It made me smirk. He bent forward to take off his shoes and socks.

“Four”

The second sock was still on his foot.

“Three”

Gasping, he roughly pulled at it and dropped it on the floor.

“Two”

With shaky hands, he tried to open the belt.

“One”

He stopped and closed his eyes, his hands resting on the belt.

“Zero”

His head was bent and he opened his eyes again to look at me from below. Still, he looked so frightened, like a rabbit caught in the headlights. A very raw feeling. It teased me, tempted me to make it worse for him. But we had just started.  
It was impossible to get naked within 10 seconds; me and him knew that. And though, he had agreed on playing it through. It had just been a measure to get to know him; I needed to get to know his masochistic side in order to please him. Before the game had started he had lost already, but he had been willing to play it to the end though, keeping that in mind.  
I feared that he had no limits.

I bit down on my lip, a load of images flooding my mind. Blood, broken bones, excrements, fainting and orgasmic yells. No one would have considered that part of BDSM practices anymore. I had to be careful not to lapse into that dreaded personality which I slipped into from time to time. Which I _had_ slipped into from time to time when I had entertained myself with attacks and hostage-takings. And emotional terrorism. I lost all sense for decency, empathy and appropriateness then. It was different from his tantrums since he still kept a minimum of consideration and care, but when I lost it I was uninhibitedly dancing in a rain of blood, screams and violence, blind to the needs and freedom of the other.

For a moment, I hesitated, silently discussing whether I was suited for topping at all. The fact that he was desperately longing for exactly that which I was famous for made it hard to come to a decision. I did not want to break him. I wanted to hurt him, but not break him. He seemed so fragile in that state, craving for painful physical contact and no longer in control of himself. Now I realized what he had meant when he had said that he was responsible for me too when he was topping. I would keep that mind. And it would keep me from turning into that abhorrent creature.  
I closed my eyes.

“Pathetic,” I said, smirking.

I approached him and kicked his guts so hard that he gasped and curled up on the floor, holding his belly. That caused a nice thrilling sensation in my lower regions.

“You didn’t even get to your panties, you sissy.”

I kicked him again and took his breath.  
No resistance.  
No complaint.

Panting, I watched him how he tried to pull himself together, but I had hit his solar plexus and he would need some minutes to recover. Smirking, I knelt down in front of him and tugged at the belt, opened it and removed it, then I unbuttoned his pants and pulled them from his legs.  
No panties.  
A semi-hard dick.

“Get up,” I said coldly and got up myself.

I watched him starting an attempt at getting up.  
Submitting to someone and dominating someone might have been similar things but topping was a different kind of magic. It was very intense and I hardly could keep myself from pushing him against a wall to fuck him as violently as possible. It was a different context; I had been wrong to assume that I would lose it and abuse him in the same way as I used to torture strangers. This was a personal thing and I realized that whatever I did here, I still kept in mind that ultimately, he should enjoy it as well.

He had gotten up by now. Panting, he looked at me, waiting for instructions. I wished I had had a camera to perpetuate that image. He would need more than physical violence to feel alright again. The very instant I had seen those eyes I had known that it had to be. In order to restore his mental balance I had to be creative. While I tried to think of a practice which would hurt his body and mind I felt my dick twitching again. Instantly, I came up with an adequate idea. He’d love and hate it. I considered my genital as a manifestation of ultimate power and a means to dominate him. The fact that he wasn't into men made it easy for me to give him what he needed. Seemingly boldly, he had fucked me the first time we had met and I had had his dick in my mouth as well, but _he_ hadn't had a taste of mine yet.  
I'd give him a taste.

“Undress me.”

Cautiously, he got closer and pulled the shirt over my head, then he worked on the belt and I kicked the inside of his knee. He dropped down on his feet and his face met my crotch. Smirking, I watched him getting away from it as fast as he could, then he removed the belt and unbuttoned my pants. He pulled them down and froze for a moment when he noticed that I went without briefs too. Definitely, he had issues concerning that part of me and I would use it against him to give him an especially pleasurable humiliation experience.  
Finally, he pulled them down and I stepped out of them and took a step back.

“Now get me a glass of whiskey. And hurry up.“

It took him not longer than three minutes to present a glass filled with alcohol to me. I made sure that the first thing he would see when he'd enter the room again was me, lasciviously slouching on the couch. He put the glass on the table in front of me and waited for orders. I got up and took a few steps towards him, wiggling my ass, but not too much. 

“Alright. I want you to stimulate my prostate now.“

For a moment, he looked at me, then he went to the cupboard to search for some device and I chuckled to myself. When he had found something he returned to me and showed me an anal dildo.

“Not like that,” I said, smirking, “Use your finger.”

I could witness him blushing.  
That was the moment when I knew that I was on the right track and that he would never forget this evening ever again. I strived to embarrass him and I knew exactly how I could achieve that.  
Grinning lewdly, I spread my legs and invited him to start. I could see how uncomfortable he felt and it made me grin even more broadly. But he had no choice and he knew that.

With his head bent, he went behind me and touched my ass, but I grabbed his hand, wetted his fingers and let go of it again. He was so flustered that he even forgot to lube them up.  
Hesitantly, he spread my ass cheeks and pressed a finger against the opening. I closed my eyes and contracted my muscles, keeping him from inserting it. He tried again, but I wouldn't let him.

“Difficulties?” I asked cynically, still grinning.

I bent over and supported myself against the table, presenting him my pretty booty and balls. While I was trying to humiliate him I felt a little embarrassed myself, showing him my asshole so boldly. I blushed too, but it made me smirk all the more. 

“Try again.”

Wordlessly, he inserted it and felt for the gland. Only one centimetre and he just would not go-

“Deeper,” I teased him.

He tried hard and finally touched it, making me jerk.

“Stroke it.”

After some clumsy attempts he found out how to do that properly and massaged it. In fact, I had never done that before either and the feeling was overwhelming. Having him doing that to me heightened the thrill of it and I bent down further, pressing my forehead against the table, panting.

“Good,” I breathed, having decided that some positive affirmation couldn't hurt.

He put his hand on my flank and continued until I felt something hard pressing against my ass cheek. No doubt that it was his hard-on. Chuckling, I took the glass and grabbed my dick.

“Harder,” I commanded.

His moves became more violent and I started moaning. Just some moments later, the time had come and I checked on my dick. It was leaking semen, exactly the way it was supposed to be. I collected it in the glass, hoping that he was too busy milking me than to notice what I really was doing. 

Watching cum dripping from my dick without orgasming was a very erotic sight. I felt like being forced; something which actually didn't fit my role, but I enjoyed it nevertheless.  
When I was done I wiped my dick clean, straightened my back and took a step to the side so his fingers slid from my ass.

“Sit down on the couch.”

I went to the freezer and took two ice cubes out of it, then I went back to him. I presented him the glass. White fluid was levitating in the middle of it until I added the ice cubes.

“White whiskey on the rocks. Enjoy,” I said and handed over the glass.

He took it from me, inspected its contents and glanced at me. Then he did something I never would have thought possible. He revolted.

“I don't think so,” he said and poured the contents on the floor.

For a moment, I was speechless.  
So much effort, such a waste.

“You waste it,” I whispered, my voice filled with anger. I was truly vexed about his action. I had gone to great lengths to gift my semen to him in this unique way and he just scorned that gift.  
Defiantly, he grinned at me which just worsened my mood. My dick capitulated and retreated. I _had_ been hoping for resistance since it was the icing on the cake, but that act just spoiled my pleasure. I took that personally. Seething with rage, I approached him, grabbed a fistful of hair, pulled his head into position and filled his mouth with my dick. With my other hand, I held his nose and started pissing.

It hit him by surprise and he couldn't do anything but swallow at first. When he started gagging he lifted his hands and tried to push me away, but I lifted my leg and pressed my foot against his genitals. Piss trickled down his chin and hit my foot and his dick. He bent forward and made a sound which told me that he was running short of air. Following my sadistic drive, I rocked my hips and pushed it in a little deeper before I finally drew back and left him.

Coughing and retching, he turned to the side and threw up on the floor. I watched him, allowing myself to be taken in by the spectacle. Now I understood what he had done to me in the toilet of the restaurant.  
Utter helplessness.

Urine and gastric juices covered the floor. While he still kept retching I thought about making him clean the floor with his tongue. As I watched him convulsing I was faced with a unique desire. I wanted to touch him, to feel him up, to move my fingers along his skin, to feel his muscles, pinch his flesh and dig my nails into his skin. I swallowed hard and did my best to hold back.  
Instead, I took my dick before I'd get hard again and continued emptying my bladder. Warm urine splashed against his face and he gasped and turned his head away. After his previous revolt he did not dare to raise a hand to protect his face; he silently stood it with closed eyes until I was done.

I could _feel_ his humiliation. It was the moment when you chose to give in and enjoy what was being done to you.  
Self-satisfied, I took a step back and gave him the time to wipe his eyes clean.

“Get me another glass. A double shot.”

He took a deep breath and looked up, searched for my eyes and begged me to spare him the humiliation of mingling with the people, reeking of piss. Amused that this command already pushed him to his mental limits I gave a laugh and repeated my order.

“I said get me some Whiskey, you stinking piece of shit! And wait in front of the door until I let you in.”

He pursed his lips and got up. I let him pass me in silence. When he had closed the door behind him I scanned the room. Since I did not find what I was looking for I started opening drawers until I found it. It was a spreader bar which I would need for his suspension. I took it and put it on the sofa, then I sat down and waited.  
After half a minute I clenched my teeth, realizing that I was waiting yet again. Even if he was bottoming I could not escape this. I’d punish him for that.

Bored, I got up and looked through the stuff in the drawers again. So many toys. I took a solid steel ring and inspected it. As far as I could tell it was used for ball stretching. Bravely, I opened it and closed it around my scrotum. While my balls tried to get back into their usual position I closed my eyes and devoted myself to that new sensation. It felt tight and full, something I had never felt before. Smirking, I asked myself why I had never tried that out yet since I could imagine wearing that device not just for sex.

Smiling widely, I felt for my balls. Tight and heavy. I opened my eyes and went over to the mirror to look at myself. It was an overwhelming sight. Solid steel taming my balls. Tomorrow, I’d visit the next best sex shop and get me a ball stretcher. It would make me think of him, of that special day. The day Bruce Wayne got topped by the Joker.  
Excited, I went back to the drawer to search for another piece, yet, I found something which was even more interesting than that ball stretcher. It was a plastic mould which was shaped like balls and with openings and cable connections at the bottom. 

Smirking, I moved my tongue over my lower lip. I’d pay him back in kind. The first time he had burnt my ass with that bloody electro dildo. Now I’d grill his balls, his manliness.  
I took it out and placed it on the table, then I searched for the TENS device and put it on the cupboard. He should not see that right now. When I was done with those preparations I went to the door and opened it.

A man holding a glass was standing there. Ashamed, submissive, awaiting orders. He was the perfect slave. I took the glass and told him to enter and sit down. I downed the drink, put the glass on the table and took the ball cage. Just then, I noticed that his eyes were glued to my crotch. 

“Wanna touch them?” 

He swiftly looked up at me, caught by surprise. I realized that I just had to wait patiently; he would not be able to resist that.  
And I waited.

“Yes. Please.”

“Go ahead.”

He took a deep breath, moved to the edge of the couch and cupped my balls. The gentleness, the respect, the love he let me feel just by a supposedly simple touch was enough to make me close my eyes and enjoy it without thinking about a _man_ touching my genitals. It didn’t matter anymore. If it had been a woman who had introduced me into that sort of thing I probably would have felt the same about her after some time. It just didn’t matter. All that mattered to me was that I could trust that person and that that person could trust me. Whatever appendix or hole was between that person’s legs, I frankly did not care anymore. Automatically, it was turning into an erotic thing for me as we were making some kind of sexual relationship.

Gently, he caressed my testicles and I got hard. Again, it was more humiliating for me to grow hard just in front of his eyes at his touch than for him as he was touching me. When I became aware of that I took a step back and searched for his eyes. Immediately, I remembered the same thing having taken place the last time we had met. I had sucked his dick and touched his balls, he had grown hard as well and suddenly drawn back.  
That same man sat in front of me now, looking at me with eyes which told me that he understood. That he perfectly understood and would understand, whatever I would choose to do.  
I was such a lucky bastard.

“Ever worn them too?” I asked him, trying to make my voice sound as cold as possible, but it didn’t quite work out.

He nodded.

“What a pity. I’ve just got something else for you.”

I took the plastic ball cage, spread his legs and knelt down between them. Whatever I was doing, for the last fifteen minutes I had been having the feeling of bottoming rather than topping. I still had not figured out those dynamics fully yet. Angrily, I took his balls and squeezed them into the plastic mould. He jerked since I pinched his skin, but his reaction just stirred my anger. Wordlessly, I got up, fetched a cock ring and the collar and threw both into his lap.

“Put 'em on.”

He stared at the utensils for a moment, then he took the collar. Carefully, and with a lot of respect, he put it on, then he did the same with the cock ring. When he was done I took the steel bar and cuffed one of his hands at one end. When I wanted to take his other hand he drew back, but I caught it and pressed it against the cuff to secure it. I could feel his fear, but I wanted to keep him in suspense. The deeper he fell, the more aroused I got. Grinning, I took his arm, pulled him up and pushed him towards the end of the room where there were two cuffs on the floor. When he was in the right position I cuffed his ankles and just when I took the bar and lifted it to hook it in he gave a whimper of discomfort. 

Violently, I pulled at the bar and finally fastened it. He was spread-eagled now, his feet resting on the ground and his arms pulled upwards; I just had to pull on the rope to lift them a little higher to immobilize him. I ignored his discomfort and made him stretch his back. Just when I fixed the rope again so it wouldn’t slip and free him he started pulling at it. He was panting; his pupils dilated and his gaze unsteady.  
So he _did_ have limits.

As soon as I got aware of him panicking I took a step back to get some distance between us. I wanted him to suffer, to experience mental and physical pain, but that was not the kind of pain I was going for.  
He was different from me. While I craved to get broken, he, like any other sane man, ultimately dreaded it. I could survive in the whirling chaos where there was no order, no security and nothing to cling to anymore. I enjoyed losing my mind because I knew that eventually, I’d return to reality again. He, however, feared that state. And I understood. He was inexperienced in rather using that kind of madness instead of suffering from it. I'd be a good teacher.

Immediately, I dropped my asshole attitude and approached him again, slowly. I licked my lips and cupped his cheek to calm him down. When I concentrated on touching his skin to calm him down I frowned. I had never been so close to anyone. And I had never been so gentle with anyone before.  
In fact, it demanded a lot from me to be so gentle. I was afraid of showing that side since I felt vulnerable then. Insecurity blurred my gaze and I faced the urge to take a step back, to turn around, to run, to call me a taxi and to lock myself in my flat.

Instead, I forced myself to stay and I looked into his eyes. He did not laugh at me for showing that quite neglected side of mine and he did not make fun of me for caring about him. I stared at him, feeling so deeply moved that I forgot to move my fingers and they just rested on his cheek.  
When I had managed to pull myself together I cleared my throat and moved closer.

“I’m not going to break you,” I whispered, locking gazes, “I’m going to hurt you, but not like that. Don’t be afraid. It’s going to be alright.”

It had been too much for him. And maybe I had gotten lost in my sadism; lapsed into that state which I had dreaded. Since he still looked so confused I dropped my gaze and asked him whether I should free him.

“I _do_ want this,” he whispered.

“Then you have to trust me. Whatever we do, you're the top. I won't do anything which could really hurt you.”

That honesty hurt. I’d rather have chosen not to tell him about my feelings, but I thought that I had to in order to show him that he was safe, even with a complete freak like me.

“What I am doing is just to please you.”

I would have gone on and on, down to the really tacky and embarrassing shit like telling him that he mattered to me, that I wanted him to enjoy it and that it would just make me feel sad if he’d have a bad time, but I stopped myself and instead asked: “Would a safeword help you?”

He looked away.  
I frowned, suddenly feeling hurt. Hurt and confused. I had trusted him, completely.  
But I, however, was someone who’d have died laughing at the blade sticking in my ribcage anyway. He, in turn, clung to his life, so it was only fair that he was afraid of getting seriously hurt. And he didn’t know me well enough to trust me yet, apparently. Acknowledging that, I pushed that disappointment aside and thought about a word we could use.

“Attention.”

“What?”

“Attention is the word.”

I paused, shortly, then I added: “And now that we got one I will try very hard to make you use it, you wimp.”

In a jiffy, I was back at acting the sadist. Watching him relax took a load off my mind, though. When I was sure that he felt safe, finally, I turned around and went to the cupboard to fetch my tool of choice. It was a rather short whip which consisted of a handle and just two thick square leather straps, 30 centimeters long, one centimeter thickness. An unimpressive, simple thing.  
When he spotted that whip in my hand he warily glanced at me for a second, then he smirked and taunted me: “You're kidding me.”

“We’ll see,” I replied with a smirk.  
He might have preferred another one, but this was what I preferred. A small and simple thing with short leather straps which were easy to control. Just the right thing for getting started.

“Tell me to stop when you've had enough,” I said, acknowledging that I was completely inexperienced at telling when it would be enough. He, in turn, seemed to be a natural talent at telling how much he could ask of me to stand. Admitted, I had been close to my limits several times, but he had never gone too far, not even the first time. He made it easy for me to trust him completely. Yet, I did that for the first time in my life. It was true that I had tortured many a man in the course of my life, but it had been in a different context, not to bring pleasure but to bring utter destruction upon them. 

His reply consisted of an amused snort.  
Bad choice.  
Immediately, I let him know that he would have to reconsider his attitude and I lashed out at his back. The effect left me a little puzzled. The sound was so biting that I waited for some moments to see whether I had torn his skin. I had underestimated the efficiency of that little thing. Greatly.  
I eyed the two-tail, then I whipped my own thigh to test it. Just a little effort and it stung like hell. I looked up at his back. 

Surely, he had known very well how much damage that thing could cause and I was sure that he had just tried to make me choose another one with his snide remark. A short laugh escaped me and I whipped his flank above the kidneys. He hissed again and turned his head as much as he could to address me.

“Wait!” he gasped.

I had just reached out to flog his ass but I let my arm sink down, took a step closer and put my hand on his shoulder to tell him that I was listening. He took a deep breath to choke down the pain.

“It is more enjoyable for me if you show me where you will hit before you actually do it.”

I frowned and licked my lips, not really understanding what he wanted from me.

“What?”

“Lightly touch the spot you are going to whip, then whip it.”

I tried to visualize what he was saying until I frowned even more.

“You didn't do that with me either.”

I heard him chuckling. That condescending attitude fueled my rage and I opened my eyes wide and hit his ass so hard that he tensed up and sucked in the air.

“Don't you dare make fun of me,” I hissed into his ear and grabbed his ass cheek to intensify the pain. I wound the straps of the whip around his throat and pulled, strangling him. Gleefully, I peered over his shoulder. He gasped and squinted his eyes, showing me his teeth. I loved that look. 

“Why didn't you do that with me?!” I shouted, losing myself in pleasing anger.

“Cause you are-”

He stopped, short of air. Panting with rage, I let go and took a step back again. He greedily sucked in the air and coughed.

“It was a different situation,” he breathed, “And a conscious decision.”

Within a second, I was rendered speechless and I was the stupid one. I pursed my lips and stared at his back. Two beautiful marks.

“Was it a conscious decision too when you raped me before you left?” I asked him, malice in my voice. 

I chose that word to make it sound worse than it had actually been. When he remained silent I grabbed his balls from behind and pulled at them.

“It wasn't,” he gasped.

“Okay. It is _my_ conscious decision now to _not_ show you where I'm going to hit,” I said and let the whip add two more marks just under the other two.

And without further words, I started a merciless rain of whiplashes, slowly working down his back, from his shoulder blades down to his flanks and further down to his ass. I dealt him the lashes in such an uncompromising rhythm that he didn't have the time to catch his breath at all and when I got hold of myself again I stopped. My heart was beating fast and I was breathing hard, like I had just gotten aware of myself again after some sort of wicked trance.

His breath was coming in fits. It was that caustic kind of pain which took your breath away and imagining how he was feeling right now pleased me greatly. I decided to give him a break and to prepare for the next round. I wouldn't stop whipping him until he told me to stop. That was the deal.  
Grinning, I reached out and whipped the back of his thigh. He hissed through clenched teeth and I hit his other thigh, making him cry out this time. I added four more marks to his thighs, each under great protest and exclamations of pain, then I hit his ass again and his knees gave way. However, there wasn't much room for any movements.

I grabbed my dick and squeezed, smirking at touching a solid steel bar. How much would I have loved to just shove it up his bleeding ass. Still grinning, I bit down on my lip and looked at his bruised back. His breath still came in fits and I thought I heard some sound in it. However, I was still waiting for him to tell me to stop and if he needed more I'd give him more of that.

I went around him and faced him, but his head was bent. It was a miracle to me how he could still keep his composure after that treatment and it just made me want to break him. Breathing hard, I reached out and let the whip bite his belly. He hissed, but I gave him no time to recover and flicked his chest hard enough to leave marks but lightly enough to not draw blood. It had only taken me a few minutes to control that tool and I had understood pretty soon that it would be teasing, fun or pure torment and currently, I was going for torment.

I hit his pubes and he cried out in pain. His body was covered in sweat, his back was bleeding and his torso already showed some hard wear as well and he still wasn't telling me to stop. I felt anger rising at that and I reached out again to split his nipple, but I froze.  
I was going too far. Even if he approved of that I couldn't take the responsibility for continuing. Just hals an hour ago, he had felt so insecure about submitting himself to me when I had tied him up and now he just wouldn't tell me to stop. I saw myself whipping him senseless. He wanted to get broken. But I didn't want that.  
I took a deep breath and lifted his head to look at him. Tiny pupils. I recognized insanity when I saw it.

“Don't you think it's enough?” I breathed, trying hard to not hurt him with my words. I knew that kind of state and I knew how difficult it was to say something right then. I didn't want to make it sound like I knew better what he needed now, but somehow, I had to show him that he was about to lose his mind. And I didn't want to see him in that state. It had been scary to talk to him on the phone and watch him being ridden by that awful drive for destruction although I regularly suffered from such fits as well, but I just did not want to see _him_ like that. I didn't want to see him so lost, so tainted, so out of his mind. I needed him; I needed him sane because he was the only person I could cling to when I felt lost. I needed him to be a pillar of strength.

Yet, at the same time, I needed to acknowledge that he just had the right to feel so desperate as well. Life wasn't just a matter of black and white and I knew that he needed the blackest side as well to shine even more brightly.  
The man in front of me was still looking at me. 

_I wanted to see how far you would go_

A grin so evil that I thought only I was capable of such grimaces distorted his face. Instantly, I connected with him, raising the corners of my mouth as well to mirror that grin. He had become aware of himself again and that grin told me that he was fully aware of his situation, finally back in control of things. I had woken him up.

“Waste me,” he whispered, still grinning so maliciously that I brimmed over with joy.

“I will,” I replied.

I went to the cupboard and took the TENS device and while I connected it with the ball cage I watched him closely, careful not to miss any emotion or protest, but he let me do as I pleased. Just when I took the device he inhaled like he wanted to say something, but I didn't hear anything so I looked at him.

“Do you know how to handle that,” he asked with a faint smile.

“No,” I grinned, “But I'll find out, right?”

He squinted his eyes, expressing his worry, but before he could say anything else I had switched it on. The screen went blue and many numbers and symbols were there, but I was a friend of learning by doing, so I just pressed the button with the 'Play' sign.

He cried out and bent over.  
That was probably the wrong button.  
Breathing hard, he looked at me from below, looking like wanting to say something but just not finding the strength to do so. I had a closer look at the screen and finally found out that I had to choose a program since I wouldn't manage to set the right itensity and rate on my own.

“Alright!” I exclaimed and pressed one of the arrow buttons and Program 1 popped up on the screen. I pursed my lips and pressed it again, choosing Program 2. I certainly would not start with one.  
Grinning stupidly, I looked at him and pressed the Play button again.  
He jerked, but not as vividly as before, and closed his eyes. One moment later, he clenched his teeth and moaned through his nose. Content at his reactions, I looked at his balls. The next impulse made his dick twitch and he exhaled sharply. I watched it happening two more times, then I switched to Program 3 since I wanted to waste him and not tease him.

He moaned again and squirmed, constantly moving his body so I assumed that the rate was much faster than the one before. He started panting and pulled at the cuffs and I grinned from ear to ear, knowing that eventually, it would be too much for him even if the intensity was not as high as the single strokes.  
Patience.

To make it worse, I put the device on the floor, knelt down in front of him and removed the cock ring, then I took his glans into my mouth. He gave a growl of frustration and kept moving, trying to escape something he could not escape.  
I could feel his dick twitching in my mouth. Finding myself in seventh heaven, I closed my eyes and caressed his tip with my tongue and lips until he cried out louder, voicing his frustration and distress.

I opened my eyes again and without leaving his dick, I took the device and switched to Program 4. His reaction was mindblowing.  
A long-drawn cry came from above and it just stopped when he was short of breath. Violently, he pulled at the ties, clenching his teeth and tensing up his toes. They would have dug through the earth, through to the other side of the globe if it had just not been that sturdy industrial floor.

Program 5.  
He yelled with pain and I bit down on his glans to send him over the edge. I bit into a brick. A cum leaking brick.  
Yet, he did barely notice that. He kept screaming until my reason butted in and told me to stop. I drew back and switched off the TENS. He sighed or moaned. I could hardly tell. A look at his face did not reveal whether he was pleased or just pain-ridden either.  
Chuckling to myself, I removed the cables and went to put the device back into the drawer. When I returned he looked at me. It was a strange look, confused, lusty and surprised.

I approached him, pressed my body against his and gave him a wicked grin. He was heated and sweating. His erection was pressing against mine and I moved my pelvis and he jerked and tried to move back, but he couldn't. I watched his confusion growing. Highly delighted, I grabbed both our dicks, hardly able to grip both fully, and squeezed, making him moan.

“You're one hell of a pervert,” I said appreciatively and licked my lips.

“You too,” he retorted while still struggling for breath.

Since he still had some reserves I decided to use what I had brought along. 

“Which is your favourite side? Left or right?” I asked him out of the blue.

“What?”

“Your fav body side. Left or right?”

I took a step back and let go of my dick and squeezed only his. He jerked and hurried to reply.

“Left”

“Mine too,” I said and grinned.

I left him and went to my clothes to take a small bag out of the pockets. I spread the contents on the cupboard and showed him my back to hide what I was doing. When I was done I returned with the things in my gloved hands.

“Since you liked those pins in your dick so much I thought I'd gift you something,” I said casually and took his left nipple between the piercing clamps.  
It made him look down, but he could not immediately make sense of what I was doing, I could see that. With a gleeful smile, I disinfected his nipple and took the hollow needle. Meanwhile, he had realized what I was up to and he looked at me dumfounded.

I waited until he seemed capable of conversation again and I waited some more to give him enough time to object to what I was going to do, but he didn't. The longer I was staring at him, the more excited he got until I could hear him breathing. It was a special moment and I wanted him to experience it fully consciously.

“Enjoy,” I whispered and lightly pricked the nipple with the hollow needle.

I glanced at his face for one last time, then I pushed it through.

He jerked and cried out. Before he was able to collect his thoughts I removed the needle and pushed the prepared straight barbell through the wound which made him cringe and hiss again. Admitted, there were less painful ways to pierce someone, but I did that on purpose.  
Finally, I added the second steel ball, disinfected it again and took a step back, proudly looking at my work. A marvellous sight. His nipple was hard and two stainless steel balls decorated it right and left. Grinnig, I touched his nipple and he flinched.  
When I looked at his face I frowned. He was as white as a sheet, his eyes unfocused.

“I'm not feeling well,” he whispered, barely able to pronounce the words.

While I still was looking at him he closed his eyes and his body went slack. He had fainted.  
I took a deep breath and crossed my arms. Not what I had planned. Apparently, the whipping and electrosex together with that tiny hole had been too much for his circulatory system.

I bit back a smirk and hurried to get to the sink and get a shower towel which I spread on the couch, then I freed his ankles from the cuffs, did the same with his arms and caught his body. Careful not to touch his wounds or compress his ribcage, I dragged him to the couch where I put his body down.  
His crotch caught my eye and I removed the ball cage from his dick, which was growing limp. I let my eyes wander up his body. It was a very intimate moment, not to speak of intense. I had never seen him in that state before. As I looked at his face something snapped in my mind. I moved closer and bent over his face.

A few seconds later I could watch his eyelids fluttering and he finally opened his eyes a bit. Still quite dazed, he looked at me. When his senses had come back he glanced past me to orientate himself, then his eyes searched for me again.

“Wasted enough?” I asked him, lifting an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he breathed and prepared to sit up, but I pressed my hand against his chest and forced him to stay where he was.

I got up to get him a glass of water and when I returned he still lay there like before. I gave it to him and he sat up a bit to drink it. When he seemed okay I sat down again, looking at him. I felt strange. When he looked at me too it got worse. Silently, we stared at each other until I noticed him looking at my marks. I wanted to say something; something witty, but he looked at his piercing then.

“Actually, I wanted it to be different, but that's even better.”

“What do you mean?”

“ _My_ mark. It should have been one vertical line, but I like that.”

His mark. I felt honoured that he would do that for me. Yet, at the same time, it reminded me of mine.

“You still haven't told me about the rule of the third mark. That way, I don't know whether I'm breaking a rule or not.”

“ _You_ won't break any rule, don't worry.”

He glanced at my chest, then he bit down on his lip and looked me in the eyes. He sat up and put his arm on the backrest to support himself. His look told me that he wanted to say something, but didn't quite know how to express it.

“At that party,” he started, hesitated and looked away.

I kept looking at him and waited patiently.

“It was an art exhibition, actually, well, I met-”

He paused again, obviously thinking hard about something until our eyes met again and he added: “Well, it doesn't matter.”

I frowned, disappointed that his confession had ended before it had started.

“Really? Just a moment ago it seemed to matter to you.”

But he shook his head and looked at the piercing again. Something was troubling his mind, but he wouldn't reveal it. I sighed, resigning myself to his unwillingness to talk about whatever had been so important to him.

“Anyway,” I started off, letting him hear my disappointment, “You didn't have an orgasm.”

“I don't necessarily need to come to enjoy this,” he said with the ghost of a smile.

Awkward silence was on the way again and I escaped it by getting up and collecting my clothes since I felt that our session had come to an end. I removed my ball stretcher and threw it into the bin next to the door together with the flogger and the other used toys.  
From the corner of my eye, I watched him getting up and picking up his clothes as well. We got dressed in silence and I made sure that I was done when he was done.  
A quick glance at him told me that he was not up for more talking either. He had difficulties keeping himself on his feet since they were shaking and he had had to pause several times while getting dressed. Though, before we left I had to ask him.

“Can I,” I started and waited until he was looking at me, “Can I masturbate tonight?”

He looked at me for a few moments, scrutinizing me, then he glanced at his watch.

“I'll call you at 1am. You better be ready.”

“I will,” I said and felt excited already.

He glanced at me again, then he removed the collar and handed it over to me without looking at me again. He left and I followed him, meeting him again downstairs when he was paying. Together, we headed for the door, but before we left, he stopped and looked at me. He was pondering over something. After a few moments, he opened his belt, took it and offered it to me.

“Take it. Keep it ready when I phone you.”

Frowning, I took it, having no idea what it should have been for. He left without any further word. When I looked at the belt I noticed that the edges were lined with a kind of nylon fabric and that it had more holes in it than any other belt typically had. They went from one end to the other and I had even less of an idea why and what for.  
“O-kay,” I said to myself and put it over my belt and left too.

I arrived home at midnight and went to have a shower. Quarter past 12. I went into the kitchen and poured me a glass of whatever I just grabbed and sat down on the couch.  
And there I was, waiting. Again.  
“Fuck you,” I whispered, suffering from a bout of pride. I could hardly believe that I was just sitting there, naked, waiting for the clock to strike 1 since he would phone me then and tell me to jerk off. I felt like not answering the call at all, but I knew that things would only get worse that way. And somehow, I loved being torn between submission and defiance; I was a better sub than top. I had enjoyed topping him greatly, but it was more pleasing for me to be the one dominated.

I enjoyed letting go and submitting myself to him without thinking about what to do or the need to do something. Offering myself to him from head to toe, turning myself into a toy, into an object which could be used and abused as he just pleased was more thrilling to me than controlling him. It cleared my mind and made me feel like I was floating in warm water.  
Sighing, I closed my eyes and sipped my drink and thought of the events of today.

Half past 12.  
I downed the drink and undressed, put on the collar and went to the window to close it. It was dark outside; clouds covered the sky and there was no moon. It seemed calm outside, but I knew that various men of the night were busily walking the streets, doing business and getting their kicks. And so would I. Standing by the window and staring into the darkness, I imagined him appearing out of nowhere. Suddenly, I'd see a flash of moving darkness and a black cape grazing my face.  
He'd come through the window, push me backwards. I'd stumble and fall down. He would pin my legs and arms to the floor and tower over me, gazing at me with these greedy, mad eyes.  
I went to get me another drink.

Quarter to 1.  
I couldn't stop thinking about him. The last two days had changed me. Staring into space, I touched the mark. I felt close to him, even if he wasn't there. It was a physical connection, comforting and consoling.

Ten to one.  
I put his belt on the bed and lay down, but I was so excited that I barely could lie still. I sat up again and rearranged the pillows, then I lay down again. Licking my lips, I glanced at my dick. I was hard.

Eight to one.  
I got up and washed my face, then I turned on the water in the shower and held my dick under the cold water jet. It drew a gasp from me, but I kept doing it until it was limp again. Happy with the result, I went back to the bed, lay down again and closed my eyes.

Two to one.  
About to get hard again. I saw that cooling myself down was pointless; I'd have to go with that and confess it to him.

On the stroke of 1, my phone rang. I took it and saw that he was phoning me through the video app. Excited beyond all reason, I opened it and looked at a black screen. He gave me tit for tat.

“I can't see you,” I said, though, expressing my wishes.

“Right”

I kept staring at the screen, imagining him watching me, seeing everything.

“Show me your dick”

No foreplay, straight down to the point. I took a deep breath and held the phone in a way which made him see my genital. I was semi-hard.

“Have you touched yourself?” he demanded to know.

“No, I just got hard at...”

“What”

“Thinking of y-this,” I admitted, my cheeks gleaming. I loved it when he turned all bossy.

“Show me your face”

I did so and stared at the screen, unable to hide that defiant look.

“Put your other hand on the bed”

Without asking him about the reason for that seemingly pointless action, I put it on the sheets just next to my body.

“Now watch”

An image popped up on the screen. It took me a moment to realize that it was just his mouth. The skin around it was so smooth that I assumed he had shaved it just a few minutes ago. His lips were flawless, utterly flawless. I had never seen them from so close.  
They parted and his tongue snuck out between them to lick his upper lip, from right to left, then it covered his entire lip and he seductively let it slide down.  
I forgot myself and watched, spellbound.

“Just imagine,” he whispered into the phone, smiling teasingly.

He turned to the side so I could see his lips in profile. The tip of a black dildo appeared in the right corner of the screen and he opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out to lick the glans.  
He didn't need to tell me to imagine.  
His tongue circled the glans and I shifted my weight, pressing my hand against the mattress. He licked the underside of it, then he drew back, opened his mouth and took it in.  
Slowly, very slowly, he drew back again, making sure that it was slow enough for me to see his lips touching every millimeter. My grip around the phone became tighter without me noticing.

When he had reached the tip of it again he let go and closed his lips just around the tip again, slightly moving forth and back, sucking it.  
I was hard.  
The angle of the camera was changed and I could see the entire dildo. He took it in again, down to the balls and he gagged. He moved back and forth until he gagged again and he did that for another time until he withdrew from it completely; a thin string of saliva connecting the tip with his lips.  
Paralysed, I lay in my bed, ready to come. 

“You hard now?”

The screen went black again. I forgot that he could see my face; the black screen made me automatically assume that he couldn't see much more either. Had I been aware of him seeing me I would have put the phone away. I was sweating and panting, having gotten sucked into that show without realizing.

“Are you hard?” he asked insistently.

I swallowed and showed him my erection.

“Press the phone against the underside of your dick”

I did as he told me and watched his lips appearing there again. He moved closer to the camera and his tongue darted out again and licked over the screen, making it seem like he just licked my glans. It had the same effect as when he would have done that to me in person. I was breathing hard already and a needy moan escaped me. I was back to bottoming and he was back to topping. 

After a short and wicked grin he opened his mouth and moved closer and I understood that I was to position the phone in a way which would make it seem like he was taking me in. I could feel his tongue licking the underside of my glans, then the left side and right side and finally, I could feel it pressing against my urethral orifice.  
Absent-mindedly, I swallowed and dug my nails into the mattress. I was sure that he could hear me panting, but I didn't hold back. I wanted him to hear it, I wanted him to see how much he turned me on, how hard I got at him just sucking me off without any other disciplinary measures.

When the screen suddenly went black again I held the phone in front of my face again, showing him how horny I was. I waited for him to say something, but he remained silent.  
Teasingly silent.

“Can I touch myself now?” I asked, out of breath, making a complete fool of myself and enjoying it immensely.

“Go ahead. I will watch.”

He said that to turn me on even more and I put the phone on the bed to my right, leaning it against the bedside table so that he would see all of me.  
Greedily, I grabbed my dick and it felt like salvation. I used my left hand so he would see as much as possible. I gave it a few slow pumps, then I grabbed my balls and moved them around in my hand. I'd give him a kinky porn show. Breathing hard, I sped up and started moaning. I turned to the side, facing the phone, then I opened my eyes and at seeing the phone I had to grin. 

“Stop”

I licked my lips and pretended not having heard anything. I _couldn't_ stop now.

“STOP!!!”

I startled and let go of my dick and balls, gazing at the phone.

“Take the belt.”

Confused, I swallowed and turned around to look for it. It was right behind me. I took it and turned around to show him that I had it here.

“Put it around your neck. Like a noose. But turn it around so it can't snap in. Also, make sure it doesn't touch your laryngeal prominence.”

I stared at the black screen, dumbfounded. When I realized what was going to happen I was about to smirk, but I pursed my lips and tried to hide it. Wordlessly, I put the noose over my head and pulled until I felt the leather gently embracing my neck and throat.

“My lary-what?” 

“Your adam's apple. Be very careful. I mean it.”

I blinked, appreciating his worries. I took the belt and adjusted it and instantly, it felt better.

“Lie down now. Masturbate and pull. Let go when you're about to orgasm.”

Breathing hard from excitement again, I lay down and did as he told me. Carefully, I pulled at the belt end until my ears felt like being clogged, then I started pumping my dick again. I had to concetrate on not coming already; I wanted to enjoy this a bit too and give him some eye-candy as well. Though, feeling a little courageous, I pulled and the noose went tighter around my throat. I felt the blood pulsing in head and my eyes going out of focus. Wide-eyed, I gazed at the black screen, the center of my lust, my desire and my life.

I closed my fingers around the glans and rubbed the thumb against the urethral opening, imagining him rubbing his balls against it. The noose tightened and I opened my mouth and held my breath. I couldn't resist that sensation; I had wanted to delay my orgasm, but I just couldn't any longer.  
My fingers wound themselves around my dick again, another pump, then I let go of the belt. I gasped for air and felt the blood rushing back into my head and at the same time a hot surge wandered down my body, straight to my crotch and I pumped again and cried out while I came. Intense waves of pleasure made me curl up, close my eyes and moan while I struggled for breath. 

My bliss was complete, perfect. Nothing else on my mind than my body and his image. A few moments of intense pleasure, satisfaction and all-encompassing love.  
Peace.

My fingers moved over my glans, gently, spreading the cum all over it, calming it. As the orgasmic sensations dwindled I still panted for breath, but I opened my eyes and fixed my gaze on the phone, searching for comfort in his sight. Some of my cum had hit the phone but through the milky liquid, I could see him, his full body as he lay on his bed, breathing hard as well, recovering from orgasm. Silently thanking him for this sight, I closed my eyes and smiled. I felt so spent that I couldn't move at all and just lay there, enjoying the aftermath of that intense experience.

After a minute, though, I tried to prop myself up, but I sank down on the bed, my arms shaking. Clumsily, I removed the belt and wiped the semen from the screen. We looked at each other in silence, enjoying the presence of each other.  
Eventually, he smiled too, then he reached for the phone and hung up. Instantly, I was thrown back on my own existance, but I didn't feel lonely at all. In the fuzzy feelings of that aftermath, I closed my eyes and made a silent confession.  
It consisted of three simple words, which I never would have pronounced.  
He'd never hear it, never know.  
It would be my secret.  
Unutterable.  
Unacceptable.  
But undeniable.

________________


End file.
